Funny How
by Turtle2
Summary: When Tru's own life is in danger, the only one who can help her is the person she's supposed to save. Rating for language and unnecessary roughness.
1. Third and McBain

Funny How  
By me, Turtle  
  
Disclaimer: To think that I can borrow these wonderful characters without mentioning that they aren't really mine and not expect serious karmic (and legal) repercussions would be a failure of imagination. There. Kiff, however, is mine – A tribute to one of my co-workers. On with the show!  
  
Tuesday 9:23 am  
  
Tru Davies rolled over in bed and flopped her arm onto the empty side, half expecting it to land on Luke. Of course it didn't. It never did, never had, and never would. Luke was dead.  
  
Tru opened her eyes to the rainy morning outside her window. She hadn't finished up at the morgue last night until almost five. Though none of the corpses had spoken to her all shift, she was exhausted. That didn't mean she was going to get back to sleep – especially since she had been awake for thirty seconds and already the phone was ringing.  
  
She groped for the receiver.  
  
"'Lo?"  
  
"Morning, sunshine!" sang the voice on the other end.  
  
"Harrison," Tru groaned. "I went to bed four hours ago. This better be good."  
  
A pause.  
  
"This wouldn't happen to be one of those, you know, REWIND days, would it Miss Cranky Pants?"  
  
"No, Harry."  
  
"Good, because I need you to come pick me up."  
  
Tru sighed. Her little brother had a lot of things going for him: Decent looks, wit, charm. Too bad he squandered those assets by wanting something every time he called.  
  
"Harrison, sometimes I wonder if I'd hate you so much if you weren't my next of kin."  
  
"I'm serious!"  
  
Tru sighed. "Pick you up where?"  
  
"This bar on Third and Arthur."  
  
"A bar. At nine-thirty in the morning?"  
  
"It's a long story. Could you just please hurry?"  
  
"Wait, Third and... That biker bar?"  
  
"Tru," Harrison whispered urgently, "there are a lot of very large men here giving me very long looks and the juke box has nothing in it but Poison and ACDC. They're about to play 'Every Rose Has Its Thorn' for the sixth time in an hour. No get over here and rescue me."  
  
"Fine. I'll be there by two."  
  
"What??? By then I'll be somebody's girlfriend! Several times!"  
  
"Don't be such a homophobe. I have to get to the dean's office for some application materials and then I'll be there as soon as I can."  
  
"So do it afterwards."  
  
"They'll be closed."  
  
"Ooohh," Harrison groaned. "Eeeev'ry cowboy sings a sad, sa-ad song..."  
  
"Good by, Harrison."  
  
Click  
  
Harrison gave the payphone a look of despair before hanging up. He glanced at the ancient clock above the door before he noticed the fellow at the bar who was smiling a gap-toothed smile under the brim of his leather hat in Harrison's direction. He gave Harrison a wave. Harrison haltingly waved back, and then went to hide in the men's room for a while.  
  
Tuesday 1:54 pm  
  
Tru pushed her long brown hair away from her face, as much to wake herself up as to keep her view of the road clear. Sometimes she wondered if she had been some sort of marauding pirate in a past life and was paying for it now.  
  
Any such thoughts fled however when she turned the last corner and saw an ambulance, flashing lights and all, parked in front of the seedy little bar. She pulled to a stop just behind it, all sorts of horrible images of Harrison's slashed and lifeless body shattered in a bar brawl flooding her head. He'd tried to tell her he was in trouble. Oh God, why hadn't she listened!  
  
She jumped out of her jeep and dashed for the doorway.  
  
"Harrison? Harrison!" she called.  
  
"Looking for somebody, Miss?" one of the dozen or so beefy, leather- clad men at the bar asked politely.  
  
Tru paused just inside, taking in the scene. The floor of the smoky establishment was littered with broken glass, beer and blood. On the floor next to an overturned stool, a skinny fellow sat grimacing while a handsome, blond EMT held his bleeding arm aloft. His partner, a small woman with brown hair, was winding kerlix over the wounds.  
  
"What happened to him?" Tru asked the biker.  
  
"Fell off his stool with a beer in his hand. Dammit Pike, how many times do we have to tell you to quit before that happens? And if it happens, to not break your fall with your beer hand?"  
  
"Sorry, Screwdriver," Pike slurred.  
  
"I'm looking for my brother," Tru said. "Would've been here since about nine this morning?"  
  
Screwdriver peered over the scored counter at the floor beyond.  
  
"Hey, little buddy. I think you can come out now."  
  
Frowning, Tru looked with him. There was Harrison, huddled behind the bar in a tight ball. When he saw her, he sprang to his feet.  
  
"Tru, thank God! Let's get the hell out of here before they start coming onto you too."  
  
With that he fled for the door and the car. Tru gave Screwdriver an apologetic look.  
  
"Thanks for watching him."  
  
"No problem," he said, saluting her with his beer. "Seems nice, but you should get him to quit flattering himself."  
  
Tru smiled and headed for the door herself. She was about halfway there when she slipped in the beer. She was fully airborne for a moment, the glassy floor rushing up to her back –  
  
and her fall was broken by a pair of thin, strong arms.  
  
Letting her breath out in relief, she let the person behind her lift her upright and then looked back to find the female paramedic, whose nametag read K. Frink. For all that half of Tru wished she'd fallen into the arms of the cute guy, she couldn't help but be impressed: The girl looked even smaller standing up, and yet had pulled off the stunt with seemingly no trouble.  
  
"Thanks," said Tru. "Nice catch."  
  
"Watch your step," said K. Frink with a nod. "Come on, boys. Hey Pike, where's your frequent flyer card? Two more stamps and you get to ride shotgun and run the siren."  
  
Tuesday 2:41 pm  
  
"Jesus, how long is this gonna take?" Harrison moped.  
  
"Maybe there was an accident. That's what happens when it rains."  
  
"But an hour? Don't you think they could've scraped the bodies off the road by now?"  
  
To tell the truth, Tru was wondering the same. She peered past the busy windshield wipers at the traffic that seemed to stretch ahead to the horizon.  
  
"Harrison, why were you in a biker bar at a time of day when most bars are still closed?"  
  
"I..." Harrison cleared his throat. "I was meeting a friend."  
  
"What friend?"  
  
"Business friend."  
  
"You mean like a bookie?"  
  
Harrison folded his arms and pouted, refusing to answer, which was answer enough.  
  
"Your bookie wanted to meet you in a biker bar at nine in the morning."  
  
"No. My bookie wanted to meet me in the park at eight in the morning and then had his thugs chase me to a biker bar where I stayed until two in the afternoon because they were too scared of the place to follow me inside. Hey, we're moving!"  
  
The car inched along the road and eventually they could see the flashing red and white lights of emergency vehicles about a block up the street. Great: Rubber-neckers, people slowing down to gawk. They made life difficult not only for other drivers, but for the people responding to the scene, including morgue attendants like Tru.  
  
However, as they slid past the accident itself, even Tru found it hard not to look.  
  
"Holy..." Harrison breathed as he stared wide-eyed out the window. "What the hell happened here? The epic battle of Third and McBain?"  
  
"I don't know," said Tru. "Looks like a car accident, but there's only one car."  
  
One SUV among two cop cars, two ambulances, and a fire truck. The car's radiator was a concave, twisted, leaking piece of modern art. Whatever it had hit, it must've been going pretty fast. But what could it have hit? Nothing around seemed damaged.  
  
And then Tru saw the cluster of emergency personnel kneeling on the ground, working furiously, passing equipment and bandages and aiming flashlights. At the center of the huddle, Tru could just make out a limp, ghostly hand on the asphalt.  
  
"Oh, no."  
  
With a sinking feeling, Tru continued to drive. Twenty minutes later, just after dropping Harrison off at his very secure apartment building and reminding him not to open the door for anyone (not even girl scouts), her cell phone rang.  
  
"Hey, Tru."  
  
"Hi, Davis," said Tru, easily recognizing the voice of her supervisor. "How'd the D-and-D go today?"  
  
"Great. We played for four hours and I got slain by a Halfling. Listen, I know it's early, but we need somebody to do a removal at –"  
  
"Third and McBain?"  
  
"Yeah. How'd you – Wait. Rewind day, right?"  
  
"No. Not yet."  
  
Tuesday 3:22 pm  
  
The rain was finally letting up when Tru arrived back at the intersection. She flashed her ID at the uniform guarding the perimeter, who lifted the yellow police tape for her to duck under. Another uniform, a plump middle-aged guy with a graying mustache, caught up with her as she made her way to the center of the scene.  
  
"Ms. Davies?"  
  
"That's me."  
  
"Officer Fielding," he introduced himself. "Your office told us to expect you."  
  
"Nice to meet you. Can you tell me what happened?"  
  
"It's like this: One of the ambulances gets a call this afternoon for chest pain at this here apartment building. A little later, the medics are just coming out of the building to get back in their vehicle and one of them gets smoked by that goddam subaru. Er, pardon my French."  
  
"Sounds like it's called for here, Officer."  
  
Fielding nodded. "Anyway, bystanders are saying it must've been doing about seventy. Another crew was here zippity-split and they worked the medic for a long time, but... that was pretty much it."  
  
"What happened to the driver?"  
  
"Took off on foot. Funny, huh? We've got about a hundred witnesses here and not one of them can tell us where the asshole took off to. But that's not the half of it. The real kicker is the first call turned out to be a prank."  
  
"All right. Thanks for the info."  
  
"All right, then. Um, if I could ask a favor?"  
  
"Sure."  
  
"Keep a light touch while you're here, would ya? Cops and medics work together a lot, and a lot of these guys here – You know?"  
  
"I will," Tru assured him. "And I'm sorry about what happened."  
  
Fielding nodded again and then took his leave. Tru headed for the center of the fiasco, past a group of retreating forensics experts with their dozens of evidence baggies. As she neared the sheet-shrouded, inert form on the ground, she heard the crying on her right. Looking down, she saw him sitting on the curb, the cop who stood over him with an awkward hand on his shoulder: The blond EMT from the bar. He was wailing into his hands as though his heart was breaking.  
  
Tru knelt next to the body and pulled back the sheet. K. Frink's sightless eyes stared back at her. She was covered in blood, and there was a large dent in her chest. Her ribs had been crushed like twigs.  
  
Suddenly, one ghostly hand reached up and seized Tru's wrist. Gasping in surprise, she looked down and saw the dead paramedic's eyes boring into hers.  
  
"HELP US."  
  
Then, in the split second between the plea and the "rewind", Tru had the strangest feeling, stranger even than reliving a day. She looked up and peered through the foggy air across the street. On the otherwise deserted sidewalk, there was a man standing there. A young man in a long dark coat. A man with cold, cold eyes who had haunted her dreams since Luke's death, and he was looking straight at her.  
  
Before she could bolt across the street and strangle him as she'd so often fantasized, she found herself sitting bolt upright in her own bed. Her alarm clock read 9:23, and the phone was ringing.  
  
She picked up the receiver. "Harrison, I don't have time to –"  
  
"Hello, Tru."  
  
Tru's tongue froze along with her blood. She knew the voice well, and it wasn't her brother's.  
  
"Jack."  
  
TBC...  
  
Ps – It gets more exciting, honest. 


	2. SUV's Are Dangerous

AN: So then I says to Mary I says... Just kidding. So many of my favorite authors seem to make a point of an author's note with every chapter and I wanted to be part of the club. Not- so-unfortunately, I can't think of anything to say, so here's the next chapter. Hope y'all like it.  
  
Tuesday 9:24 am  
  
"It's been a long time," Jack's pompous drawl oozed over the line. "How are Davis and Harrison? Keeping out of trouble, I trust."  
  
They hadn't spoken since Luke's funeral. She'd thought her hatred toward the self-proclaimed angel of death had eased enough for her to function. At least it wasn't all-consuming, and it could've been. It really could've been. But now, hearing Jack's voice even after three months, she had to fight just to keep from breaking the receiver in half.  
  
"Horrible accident, wasn't it?" he went on. "You're looking well, by the way. Are you doing something new with your hair?"  
  
"What do you want, Jack?"  
  
"Well now, normally I like to start these catch-up conversations with something like the weather. However, since there's only so much you can say about rain, let's talk about something less dreary. Like, say, how you're going to spend the day."  
  
"Don't be coy. I don't have the time."  
  
"Then let me be more direct: You're going to stay in your apartment until it's time to go to work. Then you will go directly to the bone-yard and see that your necropheliac boss stays away from that poor EMT's body."  
  
"We both know that's not going to happen."  
  
Tru could almost hear his innocent shrug. "Worth a try. If you stay in today, it saves us both a lot of trouble to the same end."  
  
"Yeah. Good luck with that, you arrogant prick."  
  
"Tru, I'm telling you as a friend to stay away from this one. I happen to know a little about it and there are forces at work here other than some dumb-luck car accident."  
  
"Meaning?"  
  
"Nothing. Tru, what happens when somebody who's supposed to die winds up walking away? What happens?"  
  
"Sorry. I don't have any more boyfriends whose murders you can orchestrate in retribution."  
  
"In this case, I don't think I'll have to. Think about what I said."  
  
With that, he left her with a dial tone. Blood boiling, Tru returned the phone to its cradle, only to have it instantly ring again.  
  
"Hello."  
  
"Tru, I've been calling you forever! When are you going to get call waiting?"  
  
"Harry, I'm really sorry, but I can't pick you up. And you should know better than to meet your bookie in strange, isolated places."  
  
"How did you – Oh, jeez. Who is it this time?"  
  
"A paramedic who's about to meet an untimely end at the hands of an SUV." Tru was already throwing on clothes and lacing up her running shoes. "Everybody keeps saying those things are unsafe, but they don't know the half of it. I have to go."  
  
"Wait! Who's going to pick me up?"  
  
"Ask Screwdriver. I'm sure he'd be happy to give you a ride. Oh, and tell Pike to stay on his stool. Bye!"  
  
Tuesday 10:01 am  
  
Tru made it to the downtown fire station just as the rain was making its climax. Rushing from her car to the front door, she knocked and was met by a man who was roughly the size of Michael Clark Duncan.  
  
"Can I help you?" he boomed with a pleasant smile.  
  
"Hi. I was just looking for one of your paramedics. She helped me yesterday and I wanted to give her a thank-you note."  
  
Kind of true, actually.  
  
"Sure. Which one are you after? Shirley? Rose? There ain't too many gals working here."  
  
"Her last name's Frink. I didn't catch what the 'K' stood for."  
  
The giant's smile faded away and his eyes darkened at the mention of the name.  
  
"Oh, you mean Kiff. This way."  
  
Michael Clark led her through a cavernous garage filled with four fire trucks and six ambulances. In one corner, a group of firemen were engaged in an intense game of basketball with a group of EMT's. Still more sat on the sidelines and watched. It had to be almost every emergency worker on duty, but Frink wasn't there.  
  
Her escort left her at the door to a women's locker room. When she opened it, she was hit with one of the rankest odors she'd ever smelled. That was saying something, being she worked in a morgue.  
  
"Hello? Anybody here?"  
  
"Uh, yeah. Back here."  
  
Tru followed the voice to the last row of lockers. There she found 'Kiff' as she was apparently called, standing next to a bucket of sudsy water and scrubbing furiously at the inside of an open locker with her name on it. The smell seemed to originate there.  
  
Seeing Tru, she dropped her sponge in the bucket and straightened up. She looked even smaller in street clothes, not the sort of person you'd expect to find working a job that required the lifting of full-grown people. Her eyes were almost as dark as her short hair, which seemed to emphasize the plain weariness Tru saw there. Still, she managed to look friendly.  
  
"Ride along?" she asked.  
  
It took a moment for Tru to realize that she was asking if she were a student come for a duty tour.  
  
"Um, yeah. I'm going into med school and my advisor thought it'd be a good idea if I... What's that smell?"  
  
"Nothing. Just a bad joke. Come on. I'll take you to the captain and he'll get you set up with a crew."  
  
"You mean I won't be riding with you?" Tru said, disappointed. It would've been a perfect way to keep her an eye on her.  
  
"I don't think so. They don't like to put students with people who just got off suspension."  
  
Tru frowned. "Suspension? Is that why you're...?"  
  
"Scrubbing a dead fish out of my locker instead of shooting buckets with my esteemed colleagues? Yeah. Don't worry, though; I'll get you where you need to go. Follow me."  
  
Tru followed Kiff out of the locker room to a nearby stairwell and they began their ascent to the second floor.  
  
"Can I ask you something?" Tru said carefully.  
  
"You can ask."  
  
"Why'd you get suspended?"  
  
"Let's see, how should I answer this time? I'm a ball-busting career woman who'll do anything to climb the ladder. I make up stories to slander my co-workers because I'm a vindictive little bitch. But I prefer the reader's digest version: I'm just a little girl with a big mouth."  
  
At the landing now, she turned to Tru who was looking very awkward. Kiff sighed.  
  
"I'm sorry. I met you three minutes ago and I'm laying all this on you."  
  
"No, that's okay –"  
  
"Listen, you seem like a nice kid. If you want these guys to like you, I suggest you keep your distance from me. It'll make your rides a lot more pleasant."  
  
Kid? Tru thought as Kiff knocked on the door at the top of the stairs. She was only a couple years younger than Kiff.  
  
The door opened and there was Michael Clark Duncan again.  
  
"Frink," he said stiffly.  
  
"Captain," Kiff said with a salute. "Got a rider for you." To Tru, she said "Have a safe one," and trotted down the stairs.  
  
"Oh," said the captain. "I thought you were here to –"  
  
"I – I was, but as long as I was here, I thought two birds with one stone, you know."  
  
"Oh, I gotcha. C'mon in –"  
  
He was interrupted by a loud DIIIIINNG-DOOOOONG over the loudspeaker.  
  
"SQUAD FIFTY-ONE, SQUAD FIFTY-ONE. HIGHWAY THIRTY-FIVE AND NINTH STREET, SOUTHBOUND LANE, CAR VERSUS LIGHT POST."  
  
"I'm sorry; I have to take this one. Why don't you make yourself comfortable and we'll get you squared away with a crew when I get back."  
  
He bounded down the stairs and joined the swarm around one of the trucks. Seconds later, they were blaring out the garage door onto the city street.  
  
Opportunity was hers. And though there was no real reason as yet to believe that Frink's death was anything but an accident, Tru's curiosity was reaching the breaking point. Besides, the more information the better, right?  
  
Tru slipped inside the captain's office, where there was a huge mahogany desk, various images of the American flag, and a lot of file cabinets. With many cautious glances over her shoulder, she began to rifle through the hideously unorganized file cabinets until she found a drawer labeled 'EMPLOYEE FILES'. Said files weren't exactly alphabetical, and Frink's was in the very back.  
  
Let's see... Started work April of 2002, quiet career so far, even a few nice-job-type notes on the record. And then, in a letter dated one month ago to the day...  
  
"Dear Commissioner: My name is Kathleen Frink and I am a paramedic with the city fire department. If you will please forgive my bluntness, I'm worried about my station's handling of its supply of narcotic medications, specifically morphine sulphate and versed. Lately, I've been noticing more and more vials unaccounted for. In brief, the numbers on the records and the inventory simply don't match. I know this is probably nothing, but I've mentioned it to the station captain several times and he has yet to take any action.  
  
"I'm sorry again to bother you, but if you think as I do that these concerns are warranted, please do not hesitate to contact me. I would appreciate the peace of mind.  
  
Regards, Kathleen F. Frink, NREMT-P"  
  
Tru turned to the next page in the file, a Xeroxed form with the heading of Suspension Notice. Dated three days after the letter, the region under 'Reason for suspension' was filled out in sloppy cursive.  
  
"Paramedic Frink to be suspended for twenty days without pay for unfounded accusations which directly resulted in an invasive and obstructive investigation of the station, marring the good name of the fire department, and failure to follow the chain of command."  
  
Jesus, no wonder Kiff was so unpopular. She'd as much as accused her co-workers of drug-trafficking and gone over her supervisor's head. So there was an entire station full of bad blood against her.  
  
Her phone conversation with Jack echoed in her mind. There are forces at work here other than some dumb-luck car accident. Could those forces happen to be a bunch of pissed-off emergency workers? That was not to mention that Kiff had been killed while on a phony call. Awfully convenient.  
  
Tru carefully replaced the file and headed for the door. Closing it behind her, she turned for the stairs and almost collided with the blond EMT from the bar, Kiff's partner. His nametag read 'A. Morris'.  
  
"Excuse me," she said, but he continued to block her way when she tried to get by.  
  
"No, excuse me. But I've got to ask: What do you want with my partner?"  
  
Taken aback, Tru stammered "N-nothing, honestly!"  
  
"You know, it's bad enough she's still getting all kinds of flack from the guys around here. I mean yeah, she screwed up, but she did her penance and now she ought to be left alone."  
  
"Look, I don't know what your deal is, but I'm just trying to help her."  
  
A pause. "Really?"  
  
"Yes, really. I... I think she might be in trouble."  
  
"I'm sorry," he sighed. "It's just been a long few weeks. I thought you might've been a reporter or something. Look, most of these guys don't know it, but I've been her partner for two years and I happen to think she's damn good people."  
  
"I'm not a reporter. But since you're here, can I ask you for a really weird favor?"  
  
"Shoot."  
  
"Just keep an eye on her today. Keep her out of the street as much as you can."  
  
"The street?"  
  
"Yeah. I mean... I was doing some research, and it seems most line-of- duty deaths for EMT's are auto related."  
  
Tru headed out of the building, trying to think of her next move on the way to her car. Passing by the open garage door, she barely missed being hit by the bucket of dead-fish water Kiff was pitching into the gutter.  
  
"Oh, I'm sorry! I didn't see – Oh, it's you. Did you get set with a crew then?"  
  
"Uh... No. Listen, Kiff. I need to tell you something. I'm not a student. I work for the city morgue."  
  
Kiff quirked an eyebrow. "Uh-huh?"  
  
Tru took a deep breath. This was always the hardest part – Trying to convince the subject that his or her death was imminent without sounding like an insane idiot. Then she noticed Kiff was squinting quite hard.  
  
"Is something the matter?"  
  
"No, I'm just kind of blinded by your bling."  
  
Tru looked down and saw the light from the street lamp was in fact reflecting rather harshly off of her cross, the little gold one her mother had given her. She tucked it into her shirt.  
  
"Thanks. Now, you were saying about working in the morgue..?"  
  
"But that's not why I'm here. Well, it kind of is. I mean, I'm here because I don't want to find you there later."  
  
Kiff stood and blinked.  
  
"Kiff, I think someone may be trying to hurt you and they're going to try something today. Please don't go to work today."  
  
"Okay. Number one, I'm a paramedic. I can't just not go to work. Number two, what???"  
  
"Look, I can't tell you anything else except that I think it has something to do with the narcotic-skimming."  
  
"There was no narcotic-skimming. I was wrong."  
  
"How do you know?"  
  
"Oh, I don't know. Maybe it was the army of detectives who turned this place upside-down for three days and didn't find squat. I'd ask how you know about any of this, but I have to get ready for my tour. Good bye."  
  
Kiff turned and went back inside. Tru sighed and continued on to her car. This was going to be one of the tough ones. At least she'd gotten Kiff's partner to listen. Maybe that would be enough.  
  
Andy Morris stood at the foot of the fire escape and watched the pretty brunette walk away from her encounter with Kiff, a solid frown marring his handsome face. He'd watched the whole thing from his semi- hidden position and though he hadn't been able to make out a word, he didn't like the body language one bit.  
  
"Wonder what they could be talking about."  
  
He jumped a foot in the air, the smooth voice at his back having snapped his last frayed nerve. Jack however seemed untouched by the evil look he got in return.  
  
"Probably girl stuff. You know: Best ladies' hygiene products, recipes involving chocolate, illegal distribution of controlled substances, stuff like that."  
  
Andy went pale under his freckles. "What...?"  
  
"Please, Andy," Jack said, looking hurt. "You don't have to pretend with me. Do you really think I'd bring it up if I didn't already know a few things? Like, say, how you and your boys set up your partner a month ago."  
  
"The fuck are you?"  
  
"Wow. You're just all kinds of eloquent, aren't you? Relax, man. I'm somebody who stands to gain if you gain. Do we understand each other?"  
  
Andy's insides finally unclenched in relief. A middle man, that's what this guy was. Seeing this, Jack's grin widened.  
  
"Yeah, you get it now. Of course this also means that if you go down, I lose, which is why I feel compelled to mention that that hot little number isn't a student."  
  
"Well, what is she then?"  
  
"She works for the city morgue."  
  
"The morgue?" Andy said. "What's the morgue want with Kiff?"  
  
"I don't know, but I'm guessing they're getting a few more O.D. cases than usual down there. Not that you'd know anything about that. Not that she'd know anything about that after poking around here and talking to Frink."  
  
Jack tucked a business card into Andy's shirt pocket, then turned and walked off into the rain, leaving a very unnerved Andy behind. Andy watched him go. The chick had mentioned car accidents. Did she know about that too? He hustled into the building and headed for the deserted kitchenette, grabbing Don and Mike R. on the way.  
  
"What'd you do that for, man?" whined Mike R. "One more free-throw and –"  
  
"Shut up, fatty. We've got a problem, and there's going to be a change of plan."  
  
"What's that supposed to mean?" said Don. "It's a great plan. A little hit and run and our problems disappear, right?"  
  
"Kiff told someone. Someone with real proof, which means she's not the only one we've got to take care of now."  
  
Tuesday 11:02 am  
  
"Okay, let me get this straight. You think this paramedic is about to be whacked by her co-workers because she stumbled upon this drug-pocketing conspiracy? Tru, these are public safety workers we're talking about."  
  
Tru suppressed a groan against her cell phone. She hated having to repeat things to Davis, especially when she was in this mess because he'd needed a favor in the first place.  
  
Due to a lack of spaces, she'd had to park three blocks from the morgue. Now she was speed-walking to her place of business while trying to keep the rain out of her phone.  
  
"I know how it sounds, Davis. If we're lucky, then it was just an accident and I've already altered the chain of events enough for her to dodge the car, but I've got a bad feeling."  
  
"What did you tell her?"  
  
"Just that I was suspicious and she should use a sick day."  
  
"What did she say?"  
  
"About what you'd expect. I think it was the EMT version of 'bite me'."  
  
"Oh, great."  
  
"There's another problem."  
  
"Oh, great!"  
  
"Jack knows."  
  
There was a pause on the line. "Oh... Great."  
  
"He was there at the accident scene yesterday and he called me this morning. He made it pretty clear that he doesn't intend to make this easy. Listen, she doesn't die until about two-thirty. We've got a couple hours to come up with something. How soon can you meet me at work?"  
  
"Well, I –"  
  
"Davis, you're just going to get killed by an elf anyway."  
  
"Fifteen minutes."  
  
They hung up and Tru ducked into the alley by way of a short cut. She made it about halfway down the block before a green Subaru darted into the alley, blocking her path and almost hitting her. After it screeched to a halt, Andy Morris jumped out of the driver's seat and hustled over to her.  
  
"Oh my God, I'm so sorry! Are you okay?"  
  
"Yeah, I'm fine," Tru said shakily. "What are you doing here?"  
  
"I came to find you. I think you might be right about Kiff and I want to help."  
  
"What did you have in mind?"  
  
"It's complicated. Why don't you hop in and we'll go somewhere to discuss it? It's kind of cold out here."  
  
Tru looked from him to the SUV. Then she looked at the SUV some more. It looked kind of like... in fact exactly like...  
  
"You know what, I don't think so –"  
  
Tru backed away and ran into what felt like a brick wall. She looked up... and up and up into the stony face of the captain from the fire station.  
  
He grabbed for her. She ducked under his arms and bolted past him. Captain Tamzarian took off after her.  
  
Tru ran for all she was worth. She was coming up on the rear entrance to the morgue. Thinking quickly, she tore the cross from her neck, breaking the chain, and tossed it onto the back steps. If it turned out she couldn't outrun the big lummox, then at least there would be a trace.  
  
She continued to run until she hit a 15-foot wire fence. There was no way around. With Tamzarian still gaining on her, she leapt onto mesh and began to climb. Halfway up and he was almost on her. He made a grab for her foot. She pulled with all her strength and managed to grab the top bar of the fence, narrowly escaping his swiping hand. She heard him curse and smack the fence like an angry gorilla as she hoisted herself over the top. She landed on her feet on the other side and continued to run. She was almost out of the alley. She was going to make it!  
  
SMACK!  
  
She heard rather than felt the SUV hit her. Lifted off her feet, she rolled up onto the hood and was stopped by the windshield. The vehicle came to an abrupt stop, causing her to be thrown to the pavement before the radiator. Tru coughed with the impact, her diaphragm locking and leaving her unable to draw a decent breath. As she lay there stunned, two men jumped out of the Subaru and hustled over to her. The tall one grabbed her upper body, pinning her arms to her sides while the husky one seized her kicking legs. She tried to scream, but the effort was smothered by Tall's big hand.  
  
The men wrestled her into the car, which was in motion again before they even had the door closed. It was in that instant, when Husky was busy trying to grab for the door handle that Tru was able to throw an elbow to Tall's face, reach over the front seat, and rake her fingers over the face of the driver. He shrieked as her nails left angry red scratches dangerously close to his eyes.  
  
Stars exploded across Tru's vision from Husky's punch to the side of her head and she fell against the collapsed back seats. Tall effortlessly flipped her over and wrenched her arms behind her back, holding them there as Husky secured them with duct tape.  
  
"Fuck!" Andy snapped from the front seat. "Can't you stiffs do anything right? She almost clawed my eyes out!"  
  
Don gingerly touched his bleeding nose. "Jesus, Andy. You didn't tell us she was a goddam karate expert."  
  
"I ain't no goddam stiff," Mike R. muttered as he finished taping Tru's ankles together. "We got her, didn't we?"  
  
Don drew a narrow scarf from his pocket and leaned over Tru. She tried to wiggle away from him. He grabbed one of her jacket lapels and shook her. Hard.  
  
"Quit squirming, or I will hurt you. You get me?"  
  
Tru didn't answer, nor did she resist when he tied the blindfold in place. She ran her dry tongue around her mouth.  
  
"What do you want?"  
  
"Now listen," Andy said, turning onto the side-street. "You don't have to get hurt as long as you just take it easy and don't give us any trouble. Do that and you'll be home in time for The Simpsons."  
  
"Why? So you can kill Frink?"  
  
"Will one of you idiots shut her the hell up?"  
  
Mike R. slapped a strip of tape over Tru's mouth just as Andy's cell rang.  
  
"Hello?"  
  
"Is it done?"  
  
"Yeah, Captain. It's done."  
  
Tamzarian smiled. He turned to Jack, who stood casually next to him in the alley, and gave him a thumbs-up. Jack nodded.  
  
Today was going to be a good day.  
  
TBC...  
  
Thanks for reading. Hope you're liking it. 


	3. Shock Absorbers

Note to all (see BOTH) who have reviewed so far – You're very good, responsible human beings. Thanks for brightening my days as I work on this project.  
  
Tuesday 12:50 pm  
  
Kathleen Frances Frink, or 'Kiff' as she had been known since the age of eight, doused the inside of her locker with lemon pledge. She would've liked to continue scrubbing until the stench was gone rather than just cover it up, but her shift began in ten minutes and she still had to change into her uniform.  
  
She could, she supposed, just take a different locker. There were more than enough on the women's side of the wall to go around. But that just didn't feel right; the same way transferring to a different station at the end of her suspension didn't feel right. She would not allow herself to be driven from anywhere, and even so small a victory as clinging to a smelly old locker was important, especially now.  
  
Since her return to work, her locker had already been subject to several juvenile antics. When someone broke in and tore the pages out of the several books she kept there in case the shift was slow, she cleared out the shredded paper and took it to the recycling center. When someone spray-painted a giant cock on the inside of the locker's door, she wiped it away with turpentine and removed some of the ladies' room graffiti while she was at it. When there was a dead rat waiting for her just yesterday morning, she took it out back and tossed it to the alley cats. It was getting to the point where she made a habit of showing up several hours early so that she'd have time to deal with whatever gift would be there next.  
  
She carried on this quiet resistance to the beat of the orchestra she kept playing at the back of her head, never saying a word of complaint. Sometimes we get punished for doing the right thing. Kiff knew that. She just hoped she could stand the loneliness until they got tired of it.  
  
Oh well. At least there was Andy.  
  
In her navy coveralls and black boots, she headed to the kitchenette in search of him. Sure enough, there he was at the counter, sipping a cup of coffee and leaning over a newspaper.  
  
"Hey Andy, you mind if we take the truck out on a quick errand? I need to - Oy Gevalt! What the hell happened to you?"  
  
Andy gave her a sheepish smile through the scratches on his face. They stretched from his hairline to the left angle of his jaw, three inflamed welts that were deepest across his nose.  
  
"Cat," he said.  
  
"What? Since when do you have a cat?"  
  
"I don't. I mean it's my... um... girlfriend's cat."  
  
"Since when do you have a girlfriend?"  
  
"Look, it was a stupid accident and I'd like to get off it now. Do you mind?"  
  
Seeing Kiff's hurt surprise at his outburst, he forced his expression to soften. "I'm sorry, Kiff. It's just that you're looking at a guy who just got his ass kicked by a ten-pound animal. Kind of embarrassing, you know?"  
  
Kiff smiled, glad to know that he wasn't really mad.  
  
"Don't worry about it. But one more outburst like that and I'll ditch you at the next accident scene," she assured him.  
  
"What's this errand you need to run?"  
  
"I want to swing by the Washington Street bridge and check on Laurie and Janet."  
  
"Who – You mean those hookers that hang out there?"  
  
"Yeah. I promised them a ride to Planned Parenthood sometime this week. I'd like to get that done today."  
  
Andy shook his head. "Kiff, why do you waste your time on those people? They're just going to turn around and screw you."  
  
"I don't know," Kiff said thoughtfully. "Must be because one of them could be the second coming of Christ and God is judging me by how I treat them."  
  
Andy stared at her for a moment, and then shook his head again.  
  
"You're the weirdest Jew I know."  
  
"I'm the only Jew you know. You ready?"  
  
"Yeah, just let me grab my coat."  
  
With Andy on his way to the men's locker room, Kiff headed for the ambulance, intending to warm it up while Andy engaged in his usual dawdling. On her way however, she passed by the station bulletin board and her eye was caught by an item that was tacked there. She stopped. She peered.  
  
Gracing the cork surface was an ID photo of a young woman with long brown hair. Under it was a hastily hand-written note that said 'MISSING. If information, please call City Morgue at...'  
  
"Frink. What's the matter with you?"  
  
Kiff didn't have to break her stare to know who was speaking at her shoulder. It was Mike O., whose surname initial was necessary to distinguish him from all the other Mikes who worked there (nine at the current count, to go with the five Toms, three Johns, and two each of Travis, Mark, and Jeff). This particular Mike had said few words to Kiff in her two years with the company, and most of those were uttered since her return from suspension.  
  
"Mike, where did that picture come from?"  
  
"Some pansy-looking dude came by a few minutes ago, said she would've come by here earlier and he's looking for her now. What's it to you?"  
  
"I-I know her! She... tried to help me."  
  
Mike O. scoffed. "Why don't you take it up with the commish'? I'm sure he'd love to hear from you again."  
  
"You want to discuss something, Olson?"  
  
Mike O. glared at the appearance of Andy at his side. They stared each other down for a while, two alpha males pissing for territory, until Mike O. relented and slunk away toward the coke machine.  
  
"Asshole," Andy muttered. "Come on, Kiff. Let's get out of here."  
  
But Kiff had missed the little display of gallantry, her mind frozen on a single thought.  
  
"Kiff?" Andy tried again, waving a hand in front of her unblinking eyes. "Hellooo?"  
  
"I have to go."  
  
Kiff made a bee-line for the door. So dumbstruck by this proclamation was Andy that she almost made it outside before he dashed after her.  
  
"Whoa, whoa, whoa! General Custer, what do you think you're doing?"  
  
"I'm sorry, Andy. I just really have to go. Now."  
  
"Go? Just go? As in just take off five minutes into the shift? Are you insane???"  
  
"I mean I don't feel well. Tell Tamzarian, will you?"  
  
"Tell him what exactly?"  
  
"I don't know! Tell him I've got projectile leprosy or something."  
  
They were outside now, rapidly nearing the spot where Kiff had locked up her Schwinn.  
  
"Projectile what? All right, that's it." Andy grabbed Kiff's arm and jerked her to a stop. "Tell me what's going on now."  
  
Kiff looked at him with pleading eyes. "I can't."  
  
"Why?"  
  
"I don't understand it myself. It's just a feeling, but –"  
  
"I don't believe this! I risk my reputation standing up for you and your job and you're going to throw it all away on some friggin' woman's intuition?"  
  
"It's not like that!"  
  
"Kiff, listen to me very carefully. I won't be able to help you this time. If you walk out of here now, your career is over. Which part of that is giving you the most trouble?"  
  
Kiff just looked at him with her dark eyes and said in her usual, soft- spoken way: "Andy, you're a good friend. I appreciate everything you've done and everything you've said. But if you don't let go of me right now, I'm going to break your arm."  
  
For some reason he couldn't describe, Andy was absolutely certain that she was telling the truth.  
  
Kiff pulled away from his numb fingers, hopped onto her bike and pedaled off into the drizzle. Andy watched until she disappeared in the traffic of downtown, then released a roar of primal rage and kicked the side of the building with all his might... before he remembered that he wasn't wearing his steel toes.  
  
Tuesday 1:40 pm  
  
"Yes... Yes, I understand that you don't generally start looking for people unless they've been missing for twenty-four hours. It's just that... Yes, I know how to count, but... No, no. I understand. But please call me if you see her. Remember, she's about five-three, a hundred and ten pounds, twenty-two years old, fair skin, long brown hair. And that's Tru Davies. D- A-V-I... Hello?"  
  
Davis sighed, hung up the phone on his desk, and ran a tense hand down his bearded. Tru hadn't shown up for their rendezvous and he was getting frantic. He'd already tried the fire station, her apartment, Harrison's apartment, Lindsay, the coffee shop, the other coffee shop, and finally the police. Their response had been pretty much what he expected, but he thought it was worth a try.  
  
He was just considering whether he should call Lindsay again when the phone rang. He picked it up before the first ring was over.  
  
"Hello, police?"  
  
"Uh, yes, this is Officer Harrison of the social police. I'm calling to tell you that you will suffer a fine of no less that $1000 if you don't get laid some time over the next three months."  
  
"Harrison! Have you seen Tru?"  
  
"No. She's not answering her cell, so I thought I'd try your place. If you see her, could you tell her I'm going out with a friend for a while so I can't help her with this particular rewind day?"  
  
"If you see her, how about telling her to call me and never worry me like this again?"  
  
"Davis, you're snapping at me. You never snap. What's up?"  
  
"I think Tru might be missing."  
  
There was a moment of dead air, and then "Missing."  
  
"She was supposed to meet me and she didn't show. I know I'm probably just getting worked up and my ulcers will pay for it later, but she was talking about drug conspiracies and... and..."  
  
"And what? Davis?"  
  
But Davis was no longer listening. He was looking at the source of the shadow that had just now fallen over his desk.  
  
"Hello, Davis," Jack said.  
  
"... I'm, um... I'll have to call you back, Harrison."  
  
It took Davis several tries to return the phone to its cradle, his wide eyes glued to Jack's smug little smile like a train wreck.  
  
"How are you, boss? I mean, I know you're not my boss anymore, but I can't help it. You were the best boss I ever had. Did I ever tell you that?"  
  
"What are you doing here?"  
  
"Jeez, what's going on lately? Some contagion that prevents people from enjoying small talk? You're a doctor; Have you ever heard of such a thing?"  
  
"I'm sorry, was there an answer in there somewhere?"  
  
"I think you know why I'm here, Davis. Come on, we both know you're the first one Tru tells when she's about to mess with the circle of life, the natural order if you will. I've come to ask respectfully that keep your furry little nose out of it this time."  
  
Davis blinked at him. "Have you been eating a lot of paint chips? 'Cause..."  
  
The phone rang again. Davis looked from it to Jack and back several times. Jack kept his faux-friendly expression.  
  
"Maybe you should get that," said Jack.  
  
Slowly, as though he expected the phone to explode, Davis picked up on the fifth ring.  
  
"Hello?"  
  
"Davis?"  
  
Davis's heart seized on itself. "Tru?"  
  
"You have to get to Kiff before they do! Don't let them –"  
  
Tru's rapid instruction was abruptly cut off, to be replaced with the growling voice of a man.  
  
"Mr. Davis?"  
  
"Doctor Davis. Who is this? Put Tru back on!"  
  
"This is the only time you will hear from me, so listen up: Do exactly what the man in the long coat says, or we will kill the girl. Say you understand."  
  
"Yes! Yes, I understand! Just don't hurt –"  
  
Again, he was left with the dial tone.  
  
"I'm guessing that wasn't a telemarketer," Jack said.  
  
Davis shot to his feet, his ears burning. He'd never wanted to shove a telephone down somebody's throat so much in his life.  
  
"Where is she?"  
  
"She's safe, Davis. God, you worry a lot. It's not good for your stomach, you know."  
  
"So help me, Jack. If anything happens to her –"  
  
"Do you want to hear how to get her back or not?"  
  
Davis took a deep breath to rein in his seldom-used temper.  
  
"That's better," said Jack. "Davis, there are three people who know how this day is supposed to end: Me, Tru, and you. And while I know that Tru is willing to sacrifice herself to see it end differently, I'm guessing you're not willing to sacrifice her. So here's how it's going to go." Jack put his hands on Davis's desk and leaned forward, his gaze inescapable. "You're going to stay away from Kathleen Frink. You're going to refrain from delegating any untoward task to anyone even remotely inclined to believe you, a short list I realize, but I know how to cover my bases. Do these things for me and you may see your assistant alive again."  
  
Jack stood up straight and brushed the wrinkles from his coat.  
  
"Keep this in mind, Davis: Somebody has to die before this is over. I don't want it to be Tru, but if it's not the paramedic, who else is it going to be? Good luck, Doctor. I'll be watching."  
  
He turned and left without waiting for Davis's reaction.  
  
TBC...  
  
Will update soon. Sorry for the lack of our favorite heroine in this installment; There'll be more in the next one. Brownie's honor. 


	4. Run Lola Run

AN: NEXT!!!  
  
Tuesday 1:51 pm  
  
Jack strolled down the sidewalk outside the morgue, whistling as he pulled his cell phone from his pocket and dialed.  
  
"Yeah?" said the baritone who picked up.  
  
"Congratulations, Don. You put the fear of God into the poor guy."  
  
Eighteen miles outside of town, Don smiled his wolfish smile into Tru's cell.  
  
"Thank you, sir. Is he on board then?  
  
"You won't have any trouble from him. Just carry on like you planned and keep the girl alive until it's over."  
  
"Alive? Why?"  
  
"Insurance, genius. Always have a plan B."  
  
"Oh! Sure, I gotcha."  
  
Don couldn't wink at Jack, so he winked at Tru, who returned with a death glare from her position on the floor.  
  
They had driven for about half an hour, some side street and some open road, until pulling up on what sounded like a gravelly driveway. There, either Don or Mike cut the tape at her ankles while the other opened the door and hauled her out of the car by one of her bound arms.  
  
The blind, stumbling walk from the Subaru to the building was short, and Tru had seized the opportunity to try to wrench away from the bruising grip on her arm. This earned her a nearly dislocated shoulder and another cuff to the side of her head. Inside, she was pushed another thirty or so paces on, and finally shoved to a seat on a cold cement floor. There, her ankles were re-taped and more was wound about her torso to secure her to the structure at her back. Only then did they pull the scarf from her eyes, and the first thing she saw was the eye of a colt 45.  
  
After she assured them through a series of nods and head-shakes that she understood the consequences of crying out, the tape was pulled from her mouth and her own cell phone held to her ear. She had then been instructed to say something, anything. The 'anything' she chose to say resulted in a hard prod in the ribs with the gun.  
  
All of this brings us to the present scene: Don on the phone with Jack, Mike R. nervously training the colt on Tru, and a bruised and angry Tru trying to assess the situation. The building was big, cavernous in fact. It had probably once been a warehouse or depot of some kind. Now the windows were broken, the dust was deep enough to wade in, and aside from several mountains of canvas tarps, the only things taking up space were the ceiling supports, like the one to which Tru was anchored.  
  
"Good news, Davies," Don said, hanging up. "Your boss is playing ball. We may not have to smash in your pretty little skull after all."  
  
Tru suppressed the urge to roll her eyes. There was nothing worse than being kidnapped and then subjected to sports analogies.  
  
"That's very comforting," she said. "How's your nose?"  
  
"Fine," he said coldly.  
  
"Well, you look like Ray Romano."  
  
"Oh, come on. Don't be so steamed. In another hour, this'll all be over and you can get back to the stiffs."  
  
"As long as Kiff's one of them, right? For God's sake, she's your colleague!"  
  
"She is not my colleague, she's a little girl with a big mouth. Let me ask you something, smart girl: You know how much your average paramedic makes? Thirty fucking thousand a year. Two years of training and thousands of hours in internships so that we can starve while people puke on our shoes and bleed on our equipment. Nobody's going to help us, so we helped ourselves. That's all."  
  
"Right. You know, it's bad enough an innocent woman is going to die because of you. It's even bad enough that you're stealing medicine from people who need it and enabling others in a quite possibly deadly habit. But to stand there and justify it?"  
  
"Shut up," Don snapped.  
  
"I'm a pre-med student, Don. I know what it's like to be poor. Somehow, I've managed to get by without killing anyone."  
  
Don stormed over, grabbed the gun from Mike R.'s unresisting hand, and pressed it against Tru's forehead.  
  
"I said shut up."  
  
Tru sat frozen, trying her best not to tremble as she closed her eyes and swallowed at her fear. After what seemed like a year, she felt the colt disappear from her skin and shakily released the breath she'd been holding. Something told her that reasoning wasn't going to get her out of this.  
  
Don slapped the colt into Mike R.'s hand and headed for the door.  
  
"I've got shit to take care of. Keep an eye on her."  
  
"Shit? What sh... Oh, right. Shit."  
  
"Shut up. If she moves, kill her."  
  
During this brief interlude, Tru began slowly shifting herself to better access her pocket. They may have taken her phone, but they didn't get her keys...  
  
Which meant they didn't get the mini Swiss army knife on her key ring.  
  
Tuesday 2:28 pm  
  
The city morgue was a good four miles across town from the fire station and Kiff had to fight traffic the whole way. Her legs were burning by the time she made it there and she couldn't count the number of strange looks she'd drawn on the way. She could imagine what they must be thinking: Could the city's budget cutbacks really be so bad that they were putting EMT's on bicycles?  
  
Kiff dismounted before the brick building and stood, trying to catch her breath. It was at that point that she realized she wasn't really sure what she was doing there. Looking for clues? Fine, if she knew what to look for. Following leads? Just great, if she'd had any. What was she going to do, walk in and throw the half-story at some coroner without so much as a how-do-you-do? Yeah. They'd believe her as much as Tamzarian had. No, she needed something more.  
  
If only she could think! Problem-solving wasn't usually a weakness for her, but there was something about this day, something so creepy that it was distracting her, even from its inherent weirdness.  
  
For lack of a better idea, she slowly walked her bike around the side of the building towards the alley, scanning as she went. Old newspapers, puddles of rain mixed with motor oil, overfilled dumpsters...  
  
"Hey, nice lady!"  
  
Kiff's attention was drawn to a heap of rags in a house of cardboard boxes. The rags sat up and waved to her.  
  
"James!" she said. "What are you doing here? I thought you were at the shelter."  
  
"I don't like it there; they steal my things." James furrowed his bushy white eyebrows. "You look tired, puddin'. Come over here and set a spell."  
  
Kiff smiled sadly. James was your classic slip-through-the-cracks-of- the-overworked-social-work-system case. A vet who'd been unable to find steady work since returning from Vietnam, he'd been homeless since the mid nineties and known Kiff since she began her career. Thanks to a mild case of diabetes, she'd often picked him up after he passed out on a sidewalk somewhere from low blood sugar. She often wondered how much longer he could last.  
  
"I can't today, James. I'm in a wicked hurry."  
  
"Oh?"  
  
"I have to find someone."  
  
"I'm someone. Come on."  
  
Well, it wasn't like she was hot on a rapidly cooling trail. She set the kickstand and sat next to James on the cushion of cardboard under the cardboard awning. At least now she was out of the rain.  
  
"So who is it you're looking for?"  
  
"Actually, she works here. Ever seen her? Long dark hair, slim, my age or a little younger, looks an awful lot like that chick from 'Jay and Silent Bob Strike Back'?"  
  
James suddenly looked a little nervous, as though she'd wondered aloud who ate the last cookie and he was the one with crumbs on his face.  
  
"James? What's the matter?"  
  
He twisted his mouth in defeat, reached into his sleeve, and pulled out a small shiny object which he passed to Kiff. She stared at the tiny gold cross in her hand. The thin chain dangled, broken.  
  
"Where'd you get this?"  
  
"I didn't take it," James said defensively.  
  
"I didn't say –"  
  
"She threw it away when they took her."  
  
Kiff blinked. "Pardon me?"  
  
"I SAID, SHE THREW IT AWAY WHEN THEY –"  
  
"What do you mean 'they took her'? Who?"  
  
"These three fellas in a big green wagon. They chased her down, put her inside, and drove off."  
  
Kiff opened and shut her mouth several times before she spoke again. So many things were suddenly wrong, and all battled for formation on her tongue.  
  
"You mean they kidnapped her?"  
  
"I guess so," James shrugged. "Sure as hell looked like she didn't want to go with them."  
  
"And it didn't occur to you that you should maybe mention this to the cops?" Kiff asked, growing more incredulous by the second.  
  
"I don't like cops. They put me in jail just for sleeping on a park bench. I just didn't want to sleep in the snow. Kiff, are you mad? Please don't be mad."  
  
"I'm not mad, James. Just tell me which way they went!"  
  
"It looked like they were going for 14 West..."  
  
Kiff grabbed his face and set a quick kiss on his bristly cheek  
  
"Thank you!"  
  
And then she was gone, pedaling away. The old man watched her go, smiling in delight at the first kiss he'd received in years.  
  
Tuesday 2:29 pm  
  
Don pulled Mike R.'s Subaru up to the curb at the rear corner of the fire station, where Andy was pacing like a caged tiger. He didn't like the looks of the guy. Since Kiff's suspension, they'd been planning this and Andy had assured them the whole time that he was okay with it. Now however, he looked like he was trying to grind the cigarette butts under his feet into the asphalt, to be discovered by archaeologists in 200 years.  
  
"What the shit took you so long?" Andy demanded when Don approached.  
  
"What's up your ass? I'm right on time. So are we ready to do this or what?"  
  
"Kiff's gone."  
  
Don inhaled his gum and it took a lot of coughing before he could speak again.  
  
"Gone??? What do you mean?"  
  
"I don't know! She just walked out."  
  
"And you didn't stop her?"  
  
"Don't you think I tried, you idiot? I tried everything short of tackling her right there on the sidewalk."  
  
Don threw up his hands. "Well this is just great, isn't it! What'd you tell Tamzarian?"  
  
"Tamzarian doesn't know and he's not going to."  
  
"But –"  
  
"No. If we tell him he'll freak and then we're all grass. Just go back and get fat-ass so he can help us find her."  
  
"Find her? How?"  
  
"The old-fashioned way: Look. Now go!"  
  
Tuesday 3:10 pm  
  
Although she couldn't see her watch, Tru was sure that the original time of Kiff's death had passed. Still, they hadn't released nor killed her. That meant they still needed her to keep Davis in line, which meant Kiff was still alive. That was something at least, but it probably wouldn't last.  
  
It had taken about half an hour of subtle shifting to work her fingers into her pocket, extract the tiny knife, and open it without drawing Mike's notice. Since then, she'd been making progressive knicks in the tape on her wrists. At the rate she was going, she figured she might be free by Thursday... No. She couldn't get impatient. If Mike's trigger finger was as nervous as the rest of him, she couldn't afford to get caught.  
  
Mike R.'s pacing had long since cleared a perfect path in the dusty floor, stretching from the windowed wall to the row of offices opposite. Periodically, he'd pull a flask out of his jacket pocket and take a swig, which was starting to make the path in the dust less than straight. Tru wasn't sure whether this made him more or less dangerous, but she was betting on the former.  
  
Snap!  
  
Tru froze as the tape broke. Yes! Finally...  
  
"Hey. Hey you," barked Mike R.  
  
Tru's heart jumped into her throat. Mike had stopped pacing and was looking right at her.  
  
"What?"  
  
"You see... like... you know, a men's room in here?"  
  
Tru was suddenly able to breathe again. He hadn't noticed.  
  
"Good luck with that. I'm pretty sure they turned the water off a long time ago."  
  
Mike R. grimaced for a moment, shifting from foot to foot, and then headed for one of the far corners.  
  
"Oh, come on!" said Tru. "You're not going to do that right here, are you?"  
  
"Turn your head if you don't like it."  
  
"Go outside."  
  
Mike hesitated, looking from her to the door.  
  
"Mike, I might be dead soon and I don't want that to be one of my final images. Besides, I'm not going anywhere."  
  
Mike made a frustrated noise, and finally hustled out the door.  
  
Tru flew into action. She brought her arms forward and slashed at the tape securing her to the ceiling support, then cut her ankles free. As long as that seemed to take, she knew it had been less than a minute and if she hurried, she could put some distance between herself and Mike before he even noticed she was gone.  
  
She scrambled to her feet and ran for the fire door, yanked it open...  
  
... and almost collided with Don.  
  
After the barest instant of wide-eyed surprise, Don lunged at her. Instead of leaping backwards as one might expect, Tru darted past him on his left, leaving him to land sprawling and prone on the floor, bumping his tender nose in the process.  
  
"MIKE!!!" he screamed.  
  
Tru was already running for all she was worth, through a deserted parking lot, through an expanse of trees, down an embankment, through some more trees. She ran and ran, branches grabbing at her, lungs starting to burn, all the while listening to the frantic yelling of Mike and Don far at her back.  
  
Suddenly, the woods broke into a clearing and there was a tiny park ranger post. The shack itself was closed and locked, but right next to it was a phone booth. An honest-to-God phone booth.  
  
She swung inside, grabbed the phone, and dialed.  
  
Pleaseworkpleaseworkpleasepleaseplease...  
  
"Nine-one-one, emergency?" a flat female voice finally came over the line.  
  
"I... I need help..." Tru managed through her ragged breaths.  
  
"Fire, ambulance, or police?"  
  
"Police! Please hurry; they're still –"  
  
"Ma'am, I'm going to need you to calm down and tell me your location."  
  
Before Tru could explain that she didn't know where she was, a loud CRACK pierced the foggy air and the Plexiglas of the phone booth exploded, showering Tru's ducked head with debris. When she dared to look back up, there was Don at the edge of the clearing, the smoking colt in his extended hand.  
  
She dropped the phone and sprinted for the tree line.  
  
Don gritted his teeth, took careful aim, and fired.  
  
TBC...  
  
Thanks, y'all. More by the end of the week. 


	5. Wounds and Meanwhiles

AN: Cliffhanger? I thought all the chapters so far were cliffhangers. I shall have to try harder. And by the way, I'll apologize now for extensive upcoming use of the effenheimer. Believe me when I say that it's they way most emergency workers speak, even when there's no crisis going on. Off we go again!

Tru equated the sensation with being hit full-force by a linebacker. The impact of the bullet low in the back of her thigh threw the leg out from under her and she went down hard on her back. She lay there on the forest floor, clutching at her leg as blood oozed between her fingers, almost too stunned to cry out. Almost.Tuesday 3:16 pm  
  
The tapping of the keys at Kiff's internet station echoed through the marble room in the downtown library, drawing evil looks from the groups of senior citizens who hung out there. They wanted peace and quiet, and didn't like young interlopers who came in and drummed the solo from 'Wipeout' on THEIR computers.  
  
Kiff did her best to ignore them, concentrating instead on how much her legs hurt. She had to get a car.  
  
She'd come in search of more information, knowing she'd need more than the word of a homeless guy before she went to the cops. As sad a social commentary as that may be, she didn't have time to explore it. Instead, she entered a name into the search engine.  
  
The first thing that popped up in Yahoo! for 'Tru Davies' was an article from the local paper. Kiff clicked on the heading.  
  
TRU DAVIES: HERO OR GLORY HOUND?  
By Michelle Kerry, staff writer  
Whatever you want to call her, this young woman  
seems to have a knack for being in the wrong place  
at the right time, sweeping in to save the day, no  
matter the danger. It's almost as if she's rehearsed  
these devil-may-care rescues. Dare we speculate?  
  
This reporter once managed to corner the elusive  
Ms. Davies. When confronted with these  
observations, she actually tried to convince me  
that she is able to do these things only because her  
targets have already died. She added that these  
people somehow recovered from this pesky  
malady enough to ask her...  
  
Kiff's progress on the article had already halted, her eyes trailing over one particular phrase over and over.  
  
"...her targets have already died... her targets have already died... ALREADY DIED..."  
  
The eerie feeling that had been riding Kiff all day suddenly spiked.  
  
"My God..."  
  
"Ssshh!"  
  
"Sorry," Kiff whispered to the group of blue-hairs nearby.  
  
Get a grip, Frink, she snapped at herself. You were a science major, for crying out loud.  
  
The portable radio on Kiff's belt suddenly squawked the emergency tones. This time, the librarians joined in the glaring.  
  
"SQUAD TWENTY-SIX, SQUAD TWENTY-SIX. NINE-ONE-ONE HANGUP ON RURAL ROUTE NINE AND SANDERSON ROAD. PLEASE INVESTIGATE."  
  
"Sssshhh!"  
  
"Sorry, sorry," she whispered, turning the volume down.  
  
Wait a minute. Rural Route 9? That had to be twenty miles outside of town... twenty miles West of town, as in 14 West.  
  
She typed in another search. 'Rural Route 9': A Girl scout headquarters, a small state park, old stockyards, Tamzarian Auto-parts...  
  
Tamzarian?  
  
The radio came to life again, and what she heard prompted Kiff to turn it back up.  
  
"SQUAD TWENTY-SIX, YOU CAN CANCEL PER TWO-TWENTY-NINE. TEST CALL THAT WAS SUPPOSED TO GO TO HIS STATION ONLY. SORRY FOR THE MIX-UP."  
  
Kiff's jaw dropped. 229 was Tamzarian's employee ID.  
  
"Oh my God!"  
  
"Ssssshhhh!"  
  
"Oh, step off you bunch of yentas! Go out and accomplish something in your golden years, why don't you!"  
  
Tuesday 3:24 pm  
  
"Yeah, right... Well, I'm sure I faxed it to you. Next time, check the damn paper before you send the page out to the wrong station... Well, then one of you idiots must've lost it... No, I don't want you to send it out again! You already ruined it. It's a drill because it was supposed to catch my guys off guard. Now I'll have to set the whole thing up again. See you in a month or so, if you still have a job!"  
  
Tamzarian ended his conversation with the dispatcher by slamming the phone down on his desk and sat for a moment, wearily rubbing his eyes. That had been too close. What were those idiots doing out there?  
  
The phone rang again.  
  
"That better be you, Andy," he barked into the receiver.  
  
"Easy, Captain. Just checking in. And it's a good thing too, because I detect in your tone that something is amiss."  
  
"Jack! No, no. Everything's fine. It's just taking a little longer than expected."  
  
A pause, and then: "You know Captain Tamzarian, God doesn't like it when people lie. Neither does my employer. Guess which one should worry you more."  
  
"All right, all right. The thing is... I can't find Andy. Or Kiff."  
  
Another pause.  
  
"Not what I want to hear. You know, Don and Mike seem to be doing fine with their part. Why is it I can count on them and not you?"  
  
"Wouldn't be too sure of that. We just got a nine-one-one hang-up from the only phone within two miles of that place."  
  
"I see. What are we doing about that?"  
  
"Relax. I took care of it."  
  
"Well, good," Jack said brightly. "Now take care of Frink."  
  
Jack hung up, not pleased with this news. Tru had managed to meddle in this a lot more than he'd anticipated. What if... God, what if Kiff actually believed her? Worse yet, what if she was out there looking for Tru? Either way, she'd eventually make her way to the cops...  
  
Tuesday 3:24 pm (elsewhere)  
  
The door to the building burst open, startling Mike R. out of his hand- wringing. In came Don, half-dragging, half-carrying Tru with him.  
  
Mike R.'s eyes widened as his jaw dropped, making his face look even rounder. Tru was white as a lily, sweating profusely, and trying to find purchase on the floor with her left leg. Her right was leaving a wide trail of blood on the floor.  
  
"Jesus Christ! What the hell happened out there?"  
  
"Shut up," Don growled as he pulled Tru past him.  
  
"Did you shoot her? Hey, did you –"  
  
"I said shut up and get over here!"  
  
Don opened one of the office doors and pushed Tru inside. She fell on the floor of the dark little room, waves of pain pushing gray edges into her vision and threatening to overtake her. She couldn't feel an exit wound and she was bleeding badly. This was all kinds of bad.  
  
"Stupid," she vaguely heard Don saying as he approached her with the duct tape again. "That was really stupid. What did you have to go and do that for, huh? Why'd you have to – What the fuck are you doing?"  
  
Mike R. was kneeling next to Tru, putting pressure on the wound with his big hands. He blinked up at Don, as though surprised by the question.  
  
"I-I was just... Come on, Man! She's bleeding all over."  
  
Don made a frustrated noise. "Go and find something to put over it, then."  
  
Mike scurried out of the room. Don took his place next to Tru. By the time he'd finished taping her hands behind her back and her ankles together, Mike R. had returned with a strip from one of the canvas tarps. Mike cinched it snuggly around Try's thigh, managing to slow the blood flow if not stop it all together. Tru mused darkly that he must be a decent paramedic, were it not for the turning to a life of crime and everything.  
  
Mike R. was just standing back up when Don's right hook almost sent him down again. Somehow, he managed to stay on his stubby legs.  
  
"God dammit, man! What was that for?"  
  
"I told you to watch her, you fat fuck!"  
  
"I just went out for a minute! She must've –"  
  
"Oh she must've, huh? And how'd she manage that? Did you even bother to check her pockets?"  
  
"Yeah, well neither did you! What do we need her for anyway? Didn't you and Andy –"  
  
"No we didn't, stupid. Kiff's disappeared."  
  
Mike R. moaned. "Disappeared? Don, you guys told me this was going to be easy!"  
  
"Well, it just got harder, thanks in no small part to you. Now come on. We've got to find the little kike before Tamzarian finds out."  
  
"Don't do this," Tru said through gritted teeth. "If you leave me here, I'll bleed to death and you'll go down for two murders!"  
  
Don sneered down at her. "Maybe you'll get lucky and we'll catch up with Frink before then. If not, I'm sure somebody'll find you by August."  
  
"Don't be stupid; you're going to get caught. Mike, listen to me. If Kiff and I both figured it out, then somebody else will too."  
  
"She's just trying to save her own ass," Don said, not liking the indecision on Mike's face.  
  
"Don't listen to him, Mike. This is your last chance. You're going to –"  
  
She was cut off when Don slapped another strip of tape over her mouth. He bustled past Mike and on out of the office. Mike lingered a moment, cast an apologetic look into Tru's pleading eyes, and then followed Don. He closed the door behind him, leaving Tru alone in the dark.  
  
Tuesday 4:01 pm  
  
"So let me get this straight, pardon the expression. Some girl comes looking for you this morning, and then her boss from the morgue later comes by looking for her. You take this to mean that I should send half the freaking precinct out to the boondocks to see what's what. How am I doing so far?"  
  
This wasn't going well. Kiff hadn't really expected it to, and supposed she deserved it after yelling at a bunch of old ladies in a public library. Since she'd caught Fielding here at the station house, he'd been in an ugly mood. Nevertheless, he was still the one officer most likely to listen to her. Barely. Hence the river of sarcasm that carried his words across his cluttered disk to where Kiff sat in an unforgiving folding chair.  
  
"I know how it sounds, but James said that –"  
  
"Oh, I almost forgot your friend the hobo. Never mind that nobody else saw a thing, even though it supposedly happened in broad daylight."  
  
"But I did some checking. There's an old factory building out there that used to belong to Tamzarian's father before the IRS took it. I'm guessing he still has a set of keys. It'd sure be a great place to hide."  
  
"Jesus, Mary and Joseph," Fielding said, shaking his head. "You're not really trying to tell me that your boss is some kind of crooked? Man's got twenty years in the department!"  
  
"It can't hurt to look, can it?"  
  
"Kiff, there's a reason my fat old ass is stuck behind this desk instead of out on my beat. You know what it is?"  
  
Kiff sighed. "Me?"  
  
"That's right, you goddam ambulance jockey: You. I'm doing penance because I listened to you the first time. You're not giving me any good reasons for making that particular mistake again."  
  
Finally frustrated beyond the bounds of politeness, Kiff raised her voice a little.  
  
"Speaking of reasons, there's a reason I came to you. I thought you of all people wouldn't have your head so far up your ass that you quit listening to the people we're supposed to help."  
  
She stood and was about to storm away, when Fielding's gruff voice stopped her.  
  
"All right, all right. I'll make some calls. If you're wrong, it'll only cost me my pension."  
  
Just then, the phone on Fielding's desk rang. Motioning for Kiff to sit again, he picked up.  
  
"Fielding here... Yeah, Sikes. What's up?.. Yeah... No shit... No shit! Yeah, I'll be right there."  
  
He hung up and stood to don his jacket, giving Kiff a look that clearly said 'I told you so.'  
  
"Just got a reliable tip. Apparently, our girl was seen being forced into a red corolla that headed downtown. Nice try kid, but I'd keep my day job if I was you."  
  
"What? Fielding, how is this tip more reliable than mine? And who uses a corolla as a getaway car?"  
  
"Because this eye witness actually came forward, unlike your boyfriend James. Have a nice day. I've got buildings to search."  
  
On the other side of the floor, separated by secretaries, ringing phones, ornery arrestees and dozens of other cops, Officer Sikes stood up from his own desk chair and shook hands with the man across from him.  
  
"Thanks very much for coming forward with this, Mister..."  
  
"Jack. Just Jack."  
  
"Jack. Now you're sure it was her?"  
  
"Positive. We used to work together at the city morgue. I just hope you find her."  
  
"Don't you worry, Sir. We won't stop until we do."  
  
Jack nodded soberly. "I appreciate that, Officer."  
  
He watched Sikes hurry out to his patrol car with the others, a satisfied smile playing across his face.  
  
"I'm sure you won't."  
  
Tuesday 4:44 pm  
  
Kiff was thanking God for small favors. Almost everyone in the station were out on calls, leaving the place open to a cat burglar like herself. Also, no one had vandalized her locker while she was gone and her street clothes were still there instead of dangling from the ceiling fan (which had happened once before). As she changed back into them, she tried to think of how to proceed. Rural Route 9 was an awfully long way to go on a ten speed.  
  
She shrugged into her long gray coat and after a fashion, snuck out of the women's locker room and into the equipment room to snatch one of the spare medical equipment bags. She wanted to be prepared.  
  
Prepared for what, she had no idea.  
  
Well, the way the day was going, she had but to step outside and the next answer would fall on her head like a piano, a la Wyle E. Coyote. With many cautious glances over her shoulder, she crept across the floor, past the staircase, and out the door.  
  
She was out on the sidewalk for about half a block and was just about to cross a driveway ramp when she heard the loud squealing of tires. Frowning, she looked up and saw people diving out of the way of a green SUV that had just run a red light.  
  
It was headed straight for her.  
  
TBC...  
  
Almost there, kids. Sorry for the delay: Paramedic land has been a happening joint lately. I'll try to make this next interval between updates a shorter one. 


	6. Incredulity

AN: Welcome to the penultimate chapter. I was going to make this the last one, but it was starting to run pretty darn long and thought you folks might like to know the resolution of the last cliffy sooner rather than later. Anyway, enjoy!  
  
It's not going to hit me... No way is it going to hit me... Holy shit, it's going to hit me!  
  
Kiff dropped her bike and the medic bag, and dove out of the driveway, landing painfully on an elbow. She flipped over just in time to see the green Subaru pull to a loud stop on top of her Schwinn, the metal and rubber quickly becoming a twisted piece of debris beneath the SUV's tires.  
  
She scrambled to her feet and took off like a rabbit. The wagon quickly backed out of the driveway and was in immediate pursuit. Kiff tried as she ran to think of some kind of plan, anything besides getting away, getting anywhere, run. The good news was that as a pedestrian, there were places she could go that a vehicle couldn't. The bad news was that eventually, she'd have to cross a street or another alley, and she wasn't going to find a nook to slip into before the SUV caught up with her.  
  
It was necessity that finally broke into her panic. So focused had she been on moving her feet that she barely noticed the green beast boring down on her again until it was about to crush her between its grill and the fender of a parked Mercedes. She leapt onto the hood of the Mercedes and rolled off the opposite fender as the SUV slammed on its breaks, only soon enough to lessen the dent it made in the Mercedes.  
  
Kiff was running again immediately. With a glance over her shoulder, she saw one figure jump out of the passenger side and start a foot chase while the car drove off around the corner, presumably to cut her off somewhere. She thought dimly about what Tru had said about EMS workers dying in auto accidents. Woman didn't know the half of it.  
  
Actually... she did know, didn't she?  
  
Kiff ducked into a narrow side street, the lumbering footfalls behind her starting to couple with the gasping of a man who didn't do much running. Thank God for the decline of American fitness. Her gratitude was cut short however, when she was about to emerge from the side street onto the greater thoroughfare and the SUV materialized in her path. Her sneakers skidded in a rain puddle in her effort to stop before she could break her nose on the Subaru's siding.  
  
Gasping for breath, she backed away from the car. A clicking sound at her back made her turn. There at the other end of the pavement was Mike R., red-faced and sweating, with a handgun trained on her. His thumb was on the hammer.  
  
She backed up again until she was equidistant from Mike and the car, shaking her head in disbelief as she went.  
  
"Mike..."  
  
Mike R. set his jaw as thought bracing himself for the blow of his life, and tensed his extended arm.  
  
Suddenly, a loud growling noise echoed through the street like the roar of a dragon, and there was an addition to the stand-off. A Harley hog emerged from a secluded driveway, carrying two men. One of them was a middle-aged leather-clad road warrior who pulled the bike to a stop some three feet from where Kiff was standing. The other was a little guy with half a goatee who was looking directly at Kiff with wide, excited eyes.  
  
"Come on!" he yelled at Kiff.  
  
Kiff didn't need to be told twice. She jumped onto the motorcycle behind the little guy and they were in motion before her second foot even left the ground. Loathe to let her escape after all their efforts to find her, Mike R. and the SUV made their respective moves. Mike fired the colt, but by the time he found the presence of mind to do so, the targets had vacated the area. The bullet shattered the windshield of the oncoming Subaru, finally coming to a stop high in the right side of Don's chest. This left him distracted enough that he forgot to hit the break before the car hit Mike R.  
  
Mike bounced off the hood and fell backwards, cracking his skull on the pavement. He lay there unmoving. Don staggered out of the wagon and peered blearily through the steam from the radiator. The last thing he saw before he passed out was the trio on the bike zipping over the driveway where he had first tried to run over Kiff, and the beefy fellow leaning down to snatch Kiff's discarded medic bag as they went by.  
  
Tuesday 5:09pm  
  
Tru was getting cold. And dizzy. And weak. And her leg continued to bleed, seeping through the saturated canvas bandage like a leaky faucet. All she wanted to do was give into the dark curtains that threatened to descend on her consciousness, becoming more and more insistent by the second, and sleep. But she couldn't. She had to get out of here. She had to find a way.  
  
Since Don and Mike had left, she had screamed into the tape over her mouth, trying to alert someone, anyone. She went on for about an hour until her voice finally gave out. She then renewed her efforts to wiggle out of the tape. Don however had made sure this time that she couldn't escape, and her efforts only increased her heart rate and made her bleed faster.  
  
Soon, it was all she could do to lie on the floor, sweating and shivering at the same time, and trying to stay awake despite the weights that seemed to hang from her eyelids.  
  
And then, she couldn't even do that.  
  
'Sorry, Kiff,' she thought as the darkness finally pulled her under. 'I'm really sorry.'  
  
Tuesday 5:10 pm  
  
After making several trips through town and using a different route each time (Kiff could only assume it was to make sure they weren't being tailed), Mr. Leatherneck cruised into the alley behind the morgue and pulled the Harley to a stop. Kiff jumped off and regarded the pair dizzily.  
  
"Screwdriver, that was awesome, man!" the little guy enthused.  
  
Screwdriver, as he was apparently called, blushed a little.  
  
"Ah, it was nothing. Hey Miss, are you all right?"  
  
"They... They just... They tried to kill me!" Kiff stammered.  
  
"Yep," said the little guy. "Good thing we showed up, huh?"  
  
Kiff forced herself to breathe slowly in an effort to tame her thundering heart.  
  
"Who are you?"  
  
"Harrison Davies, and the pleasure's all mine."  
  
"Davies..? Like Tru Davies?"  
  
At the mention of the name, Harrison suddenly looked a lot less cocky.  
  
"Tru? Have you seen her? Please tell me you've seen her!"  
  
"No, but –"  
  
"Harrison! What in God's name are you doing here?"  
  
All eyes turned to a stocky, bearded fellow in a white lab coat and wrinkled necktie who'd just emerged from the morgue's back door. He looked pretty incensed for a frumpy guy, Kiff thought.  
  
"What do you mean? You asked me to watch out for her," Harrison said, indicating Kiff.  
  
"He did?" said Kiff.  
  
"Well, actually he asked his aunt Bea, who asked her gardener, who asked his pastor, who asked me. And he shouldn't yell at me after all the work that went into this errand."  
  
"Harrison, I don't usually launder my phone calls! I did it in case Jack was tapping my phone line. He specifically said that Tru was dead if I contacted you. It kind of defeats the purpose if you come roaring up on a Harley with... Who is that?"  
  
Harrison sheepishly cleared his throat.  
  
"Davis, this is... Well, this is Kiff."  
  
Davis threw up his hands.  
  
"Oh, God! Why don't I just paint a bull's eye on my forehead? Why don't I start catering for Tru's funeral right now? Why don't I –"  
  
"Davis, you're spitting. Calm down and tell me what happened to my sister! And what's Jack got to do with this?"  
  
"Who's Jack?" Kiff asked numbly.  
  
"He's this psycho who wants you dead because you already..." Davis cut himself off, realizing just in time that his tantrum was carrying over to the wrong person. He swallowed back his panic and continued more quietly. "He's in on it. He had Tru kidnapped to keep her and me from interfering in your murder."  
  
Kiff had a sudden urge to sit on the ground and put her head between her knees. That feeling passed rather quickly however, when bells began to ring in her head.  
  
"You're her boss," Kiff realized out loud. "You're the guy who came looking for her at the station today."  
  
Davis didn't know why that was important, but he could see in her face that it was.  
  
"Yes."  
  
Kiff went on haltingly. "If I ask you something, will you tell me the truth?"  
  
Davis frowned, searching Kiff's dark eyes.  
  
"Not if it isn't mine to tell," he finally said.  
  
Kiff looked away, unsure of how to proceed. Well, either she believed it all or she didn't.  
  
"I think I know where she is."  
  
Davis blinked. "What?"  
  
"Then what are we doing in this stinkin' alley? Let's get the cops and –"  
  
"I already tried," Kiff interrupted Harrison. "They're all convinced she's in midtown someplace. I hope to God they find her, but I've got lots of reasons to think she's out in the boondocks."  
  
"Fine! Then we'll go ourselves and storm the –"  
  
"No," Kiff cut him off again. "Somebody has to make sure this Jack guy thinks I'm still in town. And since you're the ones he's already watching... I think I should go alone."  
  
Harrison spluttered for a bit before he could speak through his incredulity.  
  
"Are you mad, woman? Correct me if I'm wrong here, but aren't you the one they wanted dead in the first place? I don't think you waltzing solo into their lair is a good idea!"  
  
"He's right," Davis said, less than happy to admit it. "If anyone goes, it'll be me."  
  
"You?" Harrison scoffed. "Why you?"  
  
"She's MY employee."  
  
"And she's MY sister!"  
  
"And she's not there because of either of you, is she???"  
  
Davis and Harrison both looked at Kiff in surprise. The always soft- spoken girl had raised her voice to a bellow in her frustration. Noting that, she reined in her nerves and pressed on.  
  
"You said he keeps checking on you. What happens when he checks back again and you're not here? Please. Please, just help me get there."  
  
Davis and Harrison exchanged a long look. Finally, seeing the reason in her words, they looked back to Kiff.  
  
"I don't have a car," Harrison admitted.  
  
"I lent mine to my mother," said Davis.  
  
"You mean she took it back, right?"  
  
"Shut up, Harrison!"  
  
"I'll take you, Miss."  
  
Davis frowned at the man on the idling motorcycle, who had been watching the whole exchange with quiet amusement.  
  
"Pardon me, have we been introduced?"  
  
Tuesday 5:19 pm  
  
Jack didn't understand it. He'd made it so easy for them. He'd gotten Tru out of the way, he'd gotten Davis out of the way, he'd gotten the cops out of the way. He'd done everything short of off the kid himself. How in the hell had two of his pawns managed to wind up hospitalized and in comas while she was still alive?  
  
Davis hadn't done anything. Of that he was sure. The man hadn't left his building all day and the tracer Jack had put on his office phone showed only one call to a Mrs. Beatrice Mulgrew. No, Tru was the resourceful one, and Jack had once again underestimated her.  
  
Well. He wasn't to be underestimated either. As he'd told Don, always have a plan B. And Jack always took his own advice.  
  
TBC...  
  
Thanks again, everybody. See you at the finale! 


	7. Things Work Out

AN: And now we come to the end. Thanks for reading, you good-hearted people. Your messages made me very happy.  
  
Tuesday 5:48 pm  
  
Screwdriver dropped Kiff off at the intersection of RR 9 and Sanderson Road with a promise to send any passing motorists back her way and apologies that he couldn't hang around to take her back (his daughter's school play due to begin in less than an hour).  
  
Alone in the deserted area, Kiff examined the building before her. Tamzarian Auto-Parts looked like it hadn't been touched in years. Its doors were chained shut with rusty padlocks and tall grass growing up through the cracks in the parking lot. Maybe she was wrong after all. Wouldn't that be nice?  
  
She made it across the empty parking lot with the unhurried steps of someone not worth bothering, her collar turned up to her ears and the taps of her rubber soles carried off on the gray wind. She eyed the dilapidated building as it loomed closer, and the closer she got, the more ominous it looked: Its broken windows were like jagged teeth and the cracks in the brick exterior like forbidding battle scars.  
  
She dropped her medical bag at the threshold of the fire exit, whose ancient padlock gave easily to the crowbar Screwdriver had lent her. The door swung outwards with a drawn-out whine. With a deep breath, Kiff picked up her slow, deliberate walk into the murky gloom.  
  
A maze of canvas piles and wood scraps draped in cobwebs greeted her when she stepped inside. About ten paces out onto the floor, she managed to trip over one of the stacks of canvas tarps and land on hands and knees. Cursing her clumsiness, she sat back and rubbed her shin at the point of impact.  
  
Except that it shouldn't have hurt to run into a pile of canvas.  
  
Frowning, she looked back at the obstacle and found that what she had actually tripped over was not the tarps, but what was hidden under them: A metal box about the size of a watermelon, which was now tipped on its side with its contents spilling over the floor.  
  
The box was full of sealed syringes. Picking one up, Kiff read the label and found it was a pre-filled syringe of morphine.  
  
Kiff's heart kicked up into her throat. There were hundreds of those syringes in that box alone, and there was room to hide a lot of containers just like it.  
  
Kiff pocketed the evidence and stood, only then realizing that her shoes were sticking to the floor. Peering down at it, she found a trail of reddish brown that at first glance could've been half-dry paint. That is, it could have if she weren't an EMT and quite familiar with the look of blood.  
  
The trail led from the building's side door to an office door that was pinned shut by a folding chair that somebody had jammed under the knob. Once she had the chair cleared away, the door opened easily and a dusty shaft of light spilled into the office...  
  
... directly onto the girl on the floor.  
  
"Oh, no..."  
  
Kiff had found Tru Davies, alive albeit barely. She lay on her side at Kiff's feet, trussed with duct tape. Kind of moot, Kiff couldn't help noticing: She didn't look like she could stand, much less break down the door and escape. A very rough bandage about her leg was soaked with blood. Her eyes fluttered as though she were trying to wake up but couldn't.  
  
Kiff dropped to a knee beside Tru. Gingerly, she peeled the tape from the inert girl's mouth.  
  
"Davies?" Kiff whispered. "Davies, can you hear me?"  
  
Eyes still closed, Tru nodded.  
  
Kiff sighed in relief and began sawing at the rest of the tape with her leatherman.  
  
"Listen. I'm going to get you out of here, but you have to be real quiet, understand? I'll take you someplace safe."  
  
"No..."  
  
Tru hadn't said it so much as breathed it. She might as well have stuck a bull horn in Kiff's ear as far as shock value.  
  
"What do you mean 'no'? You want to wait around for Senor Psychopath to come back?"  
  
"No... No hospital... Hafta... Hafta save Kiff..."  
  
Kiff swallowed hard and cradled Tru's face in her hands. "You already have."  
  
Tru managed to force her eyes open halfway and met Kiff's for the barest instant before she passed out completely, going slack under the other woman's hands.  
  
Kiff whipped off her coat and wrapped it around Tru's body. Then she lifted her in her thin, strong arms and began to put as much distance between them and Tamzarian Auto-Parts as humanly possible.  
  
Tuesday Later  
  
The sun was setting when Tru awoke, although all her perceptions were so fuzzy that she was sure it was a dream. The only thing to negate that theory was the thudding pain in her leg that was exacerbated with every bump in the road.  
  
Bump in the road?  
  
Tru blinked until her vision focused somewhat and found the situation to be a far cry from anything she'd expected: She was lying in the flat bed of a pickup truck, which was sailing down an unpaved country road. Her head was cushioned on a sack of seed. She was covered to the chin with a long gray coat, but her left arm felt strangely cold. Glancing down at it, she was even more surprised to find it attached to a running bag of IV fluids. Her leg, which was elevated on another grain sack, sported a thick gauze bandage and was no longer bleeding. She even had oxygen flowing into her nose from a cannula on a tank in a large bag on her right that was emblazoned with a reflective star of life. Also on her right was Kiff.  
  
Kiff, despite the chill in the air, seemed untouched in her undershirt and jeans. She was sitting with her elbows planted on her drawn-up knees and her forehead bowed against her clasped hands. With her eyes closed, she looked like she was praying.  
  
"Kiff?" Tru whispered.  
  
Kiff opened her eyes and looked down at her, as though waiting for a question. Tru was more than ready to oblige.  
  
"What's going on? Where are we?"  
  
"Rural Rout Nine."  
  
"But how did I... Did you..?"  
  
Kiff just looked at her with those weary eyes, and Tru knew the answer. Yes, Kiff was the one who'd rescued her and hitched this ride to God-knows-where.  
  
"How'd you find me?"  
  
Kiff opened one of her hands and out dropped a shiny object that dangled from a thin cord. When she held it closer for Tru to see, Tru found that it was a small gold cross. Her cross. The one her mother had given her.  
  
"You told me," Kiff said.  
  
She dropped the cross into Tru's hand. Tru was suddenly in mental shock as well as physical. It had worked. It had actually worked! She closed her hand around the cross and held it like an ember that meant the difference between living and freezing to death.  
  
Kiff offered a gentle look that she hoped was more reassuring than she felt.  
  
"Rest, my friend."  
  
Thursday Early  
  
Tamzarian slammed Andy against his office wall and held him there, the smaller man's feet actually dangling some inches off the floor.  
  
"You've got stones to come here now, boy," he rumbled. "Thought you could just leave me hanging when the shit storm hit, did you? HUH???"  
  
Andy tried to draw a decent breath into his constricted chest and failed. He'd avoided coming here thus far for exactly this reason, scouring the city streets up and down on his own. The only trace he'd found of Kiff was her distorted bicycle. Promising, but not concrete.  
  
He'd finally resigned himself to come here and take his medicine from Tamzarian. So far, it was going pretty well (At least he still had all his bits attached).  
  
"I'm sorry!" Andy coughed. "We thought we could find her before –"  
  
"What? Before I found out what a fucking screw-up you are?"  
  
"Hey, I wasn't the one who almost let the chick from the morgue get away!"  
  
"Oh, don't even get me started on those two. It was some of MY ambulances had to haul their sorry asses to County General. Now I've got everyone asking me how my guys were out getting messed up when they were still on the city's clock."  
  
"I'm sorry, okay? It was that damn Davies. She must've put some idea in Kiff's head before we got to her."  
  
Tamzarian dropped him, but didn't back off.  
  
"You've got about three seconds to tell me why I shouldn't feed you to the cops."  
  
Holding the rapidly forming bruises on his chest, Andy looked slyly up at his supervisor.  
  
"Because if I go down, you go down. And because of this." He held up a post-it leaf. "It was on my locker door when I got here."  
  
Tamzarian took the small yellow paper and read the note.  
  
DEAR ANDY – THOUGHT IT MIGHT INTEREST YOU TO KNOW THAT YOU CAN FIND THE MS.'S DAVIES AND FRINK AT THE RESIDENCE OF MRS. BEATRICE MULGREW. PLEASE FIND DIRECTIONS BELOW. YOURS, JACK. P.S.- THIS IS YOUR LAST CHANCE, ASSHOLE. TRY NOT TO SCREW IT UP, AND HAVE A NICE DAY.  
  
Thursday Late  
  
The second time Tru woke up, she felt a deal more clear-headed, more like she was waking up after too little sleep than like she was actually STILL asleep. Despite the fact that it felt like she had an anvil hanging from each limb and a strip of tar over her eyes, she immediately had the impression that things had gotten better. Her leg was throbbing rather than burning. The sickly chill was gone. Best of all, she was no longer in a farm truck that smelled like wet hay.  
  
When she opened her eyes, she found herself in a twin-size bed, under a comforter with many small pictures of Daffy Duck on it. A new IV bag hung from a floor lamp that was shaped like Gandalf. In fact, the entire décor of the room – Xena posters, action figures, Star Trek models – made Tru think of Davis and his permanent status as a bachelor.  
  
Speaking of her boss, the blur looming over her was looking more and more like him.  
  
"Tru?" it said.  
  
Tru squinted. It was him all right, but he looked different. He looked as exhausted as she felt. His stocky body slumped in the beanbag chair by the bed as though he lacked the energy to square his shoulders. His beard was untrimmed, his hair mussed, and his eyes blood-shot.  
  
"Davis," Tru managed to say.  
  
A smile of intense relief broke over his face.  
  
"Oh Tru, thank God. I thought... I mean, I was afraid that... How do you feel?"  
  
"Tired. Really tired. Davis, where are we? How'd I get here?"  
  
Davis cleared his throat. "My... Aunt's house."  
  
"Your what?" Tru said.  
  
"Tru, we don't know who all was in on the drug-skimming, but all of them have free access to hospitals. If we took you there while you were still unconscious, it would've been pretty easy for one of them to –"  
  
"But your AUNT's house? What did you tell her?"  
  
Just then, the room's door opened and a white-haired woman with skin like a prune and the thickest glasses Tru had ever seen poked her head inside.  
  
"Davis, did you call your mommy to let her know you're still over here?" she said.  
  
"Yes, Aunt Bea."  
  
"Davis, do you and your little friends want some grilled-cheese sandwiches? I can make some grilled-cheese sandwiches."  
  
"No thanks, Aunt Bea."  
  
"I'll make some grilled-cheese sandwiches."  
  
Aunt Bea then disappeared. Davis gave Tru a look.  
  
"Oh," said Tru.  
  
"Anyway, Kiff brought you here. Said she found you in some old factory in the boondocks. You were shot."  
  
"Yeah. I remember that part."  
  
"Well, you lost enough blood. You've also been running a fever."  
  
He peeled away the damp cloth that had been resting on Tru's forehead and felt her face with the back of his hand. The light tough brought a series of dream-like memories to Tru: Bright lights. Soothing voices. Gentle hands doing rude things to her leg. Boiling heat. Freezing cold. Reassurances. Soft touches. A stubby hand holding hers.  
  
That was when she noticed a few other things, like the metal tray of vials, syringes, medical instruments, suture and bandages on the nightstand. The wastebasket was overflowing with bloody gauze.  
  
"Davis, did you do all this?  
  
Davis took his hand away, suddenly looking self-conscious.  
  
"Your, uh, fever's breaking. That's terrific."  
  
"Dee..."  
  
"What?" he said, trying to sound haughty. "I did my ER rotations in med school just like everybody else."  
  
"Dee."  
  
"I got the bullet out. It was all soft-tissue damage. You really should've had antibiotics, but I don't have a lot of that at the morgue –"  
  
"Dee, you're babbling."  
  
Davis stopped yammering and looked away.  
  
"I, um... I was really scared, Tru."  
  
Tru pulled a hand out from under the comforter and took one of Davis's, squeezing until he met her steady eyes.  
  
"Thank you," she said.  
  
Davis allowed a small smile. "It was nothing."  
  
It didn't look like it had been nothing. It looked like he hadn't slept for... Jesus, how long?  
  
"How long've I been here?"  
  
"Two days."  
  
Two days. Why was that important..?  
  
"Kiff!" Tru gasped, sitting bolt upright and instantly regretting it. The room tilted like a roller coaster and a gray curtain closed in on her vision with every pulse of agony that the movement had awakened in her leg. It was only Davis catching her by the shoulders that kept her from falling out of bed.  
  
"Easy!" Davis said, easing her back down. "Kiff's fine. She's been helping me take care of you. Er, by the way, she's the one who put you in those scrubs you're wearing, not me."  
  
As if cued by the mention of her name, the door opened and Kiff appeared in the frame.  
  
"Davis, your aunt's trying to make me eat sandwiches ag-... Oh." Her cloudy eyes perked up when she saw Tru looking at her.  
  
Davis cleared his throat and stood. "I, uh, should go and help Aunt Bea. Why don't you two... Yeah."  
  
He slid past Kiff and disappeared into the hallway, leaving Kiff and Tru alone. Kiff lingered in the doorway, eying Tru as if she were a wolf that Kiff wasn't sure was docile. She looked as tired and unkempt as Davis – Pale, thin, and slouched.  
  
Kiff came in. Ignoring the beanbag chair, she sat instead on the edge of the bed, careful not to jar Tru's leg. She sat for what seemed a long time, not speaking, just staring down at her hands. Tru however didn't have time to interpret body language.  
  
"Kiff, you were right. About the narc-skimming, the cover-up. It was four of your co-workers who... Are you all right?"  
  
When Kiff spoke, it was very quiet.  
  
"Did... um... Did I die?"  
  
Tru felt herself go even paler than she already was. In her months of saving the recently dead, trying to convince them that their lives were in danger with nothing but herself as evidence, she'd never had one of them just come out and guess her secret. Still, there was no accusation in Kiff's eyes. There was only fear.  
  
"What do you think?" Tru finally said.  
  
"I think... the only reason I'm alive now is because I went looking for you instead of to work." She looked up from her hands then, and her eyes were shining with despair. "I'm sorry I didn't listen."  
  
"It's all right. If I were you, I probably wouldn't have either."  
  
"Listen... I don't really understand how our paths came to cross. But I do know that you saved me." Slowly, an ironic smile appeared. "Funny how things work out, eh?"  
  
Tru had to smile back. Actually, it was kind of funny. In saving Kiff's life, she'd ultimately saved her own.  
  
"Yeah," she said. "Funny how."  
  
Friday 7:31 am  
  
"Are you sure you're up to this?" Davis asked for the sixth time.  
  
Tru, who was taking a moment to catch her breath from the considerable strain of putting on her shoes, gave him an exasperated look.  
  
"I'm conscious, aren't I? Davis, we've waited too long already. If Tamzarian skips town, we'll lose him."  
  
"Then let's call the cops and have them meet us at the hospital, where you should be."  
  
"Already tried calling the cops," Tru reminded him. "They didn't believe you the first time, and I think they'll be even less inclined to after that wild goose chase Jack sent them on. No, I have to go to them."  
  
"But what if someone intercepts us before we get into town? What if Jack traced me here? What if..."  
  
Kiff watched the ongoing exchange from the corner of Aunt Bea's living room, her arms folded and her shoulder leaning against the wall. The discussion had started when Tru pulled herself out of bed despite Davis's protests that she was still too weak to go anywhere. Maybe that was true (it had taken about forty minutes just for Tru to make it here to the living room couch), but Kiff could see how anyone could get tired of this over protectiveness the ewok-looking fellow was engaging in. The fact that they were both so opaque was funny in a tragic sort of way.  
  
Shaking her head, she slipped outside to warm up the Studebaker Aunt Bea had so graciously lent them for the day. Engrossed in finding the right key on a ring of dozens, she barely noticed the approach of the car with the busted muffler until it was almost too late.  
  
Looking up, she saw the green Subaru, its radiator caved in, its headlights broken, and its windshield sporting a bullet hole. It pulled to a screeching halt at the foot of the driveway, blocking the Studebaker. Andy jumped out and jogged up to her, waving wildly as he went.  
  
"Kiff!" he yelled. "Oh Kiff, thank God I found you! I've been looking everywhere. I was so afraid Tamzarian would find you before I did."  
  
"Andy," Kiff said numbly. "How did you –"  
  
"It's a long story and we don't have the time. Tamzarian's on his way here. We need to get out of here now. Are Tru and Davis inside?"  
  
He made to go up the walkway to the front door. Kiff moved to block him.  
  
"Kiff, what are you doing? Tamzarian'll be here any –"  
  
Kiff blocked his attempt to go around her, staring hard up into his face. Slowly, Andy sighed, dropping the guise.  
  
"Davies told you."  
  
"No."  
  
"Then how'd you know?"  
  
"Those aren't cat scratches, Andy. We're paramedics. Don't you think I know the difference?"  
  
"Well, I didn't mean to insult you. I didn't have time to think of anything better."  
  
"You should've," said Kiff. "You should've done a lot of things."  
  
A vicious back-hand sent her to the concrete. Andy stood over her, hands balled in rage.  
  
"I should've??? All you had to do was stay out of it. All you had to do was trust me and I would've helped you fit in. But you couldn't even do that, could you, you little weasel? Nobody had to get hurt except a bunch of rich junkies. Now I've got to take care of that bitch from the morgue and her boss and the poor old lady who lives here. And you. Hope you're damn proud of yourself."  
  
He headed for the front door again and made it a total of two steps before Kiff was on her feet and in his way again.  
  
"Oh, you've got to be kidding!" he said, shaking his head.  
  
Kiff stared him down through a rapidly swelling eye socket.  
  
"I know that everybody thinks I'm weak, but I'm not weak. I'm right. I didn't let our peers or Tamzarian beat that out of me and I'm not going to let you. And I'm not going to let you kill her."  
  
Andy hit her again. She stumbled back, managing to stay on her feet and holding a bloody nose.  
  
"Get out of the way, Kiff."  
  
"No."  
  
He slapped her, reddening half her face. "GET OUT OF THE WAY!"  
  
She squared her shoulders and stayed cemented in place. He punched her with a savage right hook and she went down again. Dazedly, she blinked her vision back to focus as she reconsidered this strategy. She supposed she ought to be swinging back, but the closest she'd ever really been to a fight was a Tae Bo video and Andy had about eighty pounds on her. She just hoped she could stall him long enough for Davis and Tru to notice what was going on and escape.  
  
"I was going to make it quick, Kiff. I don't want to do it this way."  
  
Kiff got up again and spat out an amount of blood. "Then don't do it, Andy. They might go easy on you. You're a good paramedic."  
  
"Wish I could say the same for you. You're not tough enough; you never were."  
  
He punched her in the stomach. She doubled over as her knees buckled and she landed kneeling on the ground. Andy stepped over her and went for the door again. Kiff lurched after him, managing to grab his ankle, and sank her teeth into his lower leg.  
  
"OW!"  
  
Andy spun back and kicked Kiff in the jaw, drawing the Colt from his waistband in the same move. Aiming it down at her, he stood with one boot planted on Kiff's chest.  
  
"There are four bullets left in this thing, Kiff. That's one for each of you. I don't want to use any of them outside like this, but if you don't knock it off, I'm going to plug you with all of them right now and then kill the others with my bare hands. Is that what you want?"  
  
Kiff spat the blood from her split lip clear up to Andy's face and began to wrestle with his foot. Andy leaned forward, nearly crushing her.  
  
"Guess I was wrong," he mused. "You are pretty tough. Too bad."  
  
He raised the gun. Kiff squeezed her eyes shut.  
  
A loud crack rang through the quiet neighborhood.  
  
And Andy collapsed on top of Kiff.  
  
Kiff blinked at him. He was sprawled over her with his bleeding head on her stomach, and as still as a corpse. Confused beyond words, Kiff looked up, and there was Tru.  
  
Tru was balanced on her good leg, gasping with the exertion of hopping all the way down the walkway, and brandishing the garden shovel she'd just used to bash Andy's head in. She glared down at him.  
  
"Not so tough without your car, are you?"  
  
EPILOGUE... Later  
  
Don died of post-surgical complications at about the same time Kiff and Davis brought Tru to the precinct house. Andy and Mike R. both survived to be served with warrants for their arrests. By the end of Friday morning, the two of them plus Tamzarian had been indicted on a long list of charges – Assault, false imprisonment, illegal distribution of controlled substances, reckless driving, and attempted murder, to name a few. Five minutes later, their lawyers were negotiating plea bargains in exchange for names, which included a medical intern, three receptionists, two fire lieutenants, and Jack. All but one of them were found and charged.  
  
Tru spent a day and a night in the hospital. The idea was that she needed IV antibiotics for the last of the infection in her wound. It seemed to her however that the hospital staff was simply so skeptical over the success of Davis's improvised treatment that they needed to bother her every ten minutes until they found something wrong with it.  
  
Failing that, they released her on Saturday morning with a plan for physical therapy, a prescription for vicodin (which she promptly tossed), and a pair of crutches. Harrison, in an almost eerie turn of events, picked her up from the hospital. However, before he was allowed to even think of taking her home, he was ordered to make one stop.  
  
Harrison pulled Tru's car up to the curb outside the fire station and turned to Tru, who was gathering her crutches in the passenger seat.  
  
"I know you're the pre-med student and all, but are you sure this is a good idea? I mean, you just got out of the hospital with a gunshot wound and all. Shouldn't you be, like, resting?"  
  
Tru hid a smile. It was refreshing to have her little brother worry about her for a change.  
  
"For the last time, Harry. I can handle a ten-minute visit to a fire station. If I pass out, what better place to be than a building full of EMT's?"  
  
"Fine. I'll be back to get you in a little while. Just stay away from the ones with guns."  
  
"Will do."  
  
"Oh, and Tru? Tell her I said hello, will you? Maybe drop her my number?"  
  
So much for a turn of events.  
  
"My God. You really are a pig."  
  
"What?" Harrison said defensively. "I know you're a girl and all, but don't tell me you didn't notice what a cute little butt she has."  
  
"Good bye, Harrison."  
  
Tru found Kiff in the ambulance bay, checking the oil in one of the rigs. When she heard Tru's tri-legged approach, she looked up from her work through the one eye that wasn't swollen shut.  
  
"Hello," she said brightly when she saw Tru.  
  
"Hi," Tru smiled back. "I just came to check on you. This isn't more penance, is it?"  
  
Kiff laughed a little, and it was a surprisingly musical sound.  
  
"No, no. Actually, I got a formal apology from the department. And a new bike. This is light duty until I can see out of both eyes again. And... until I get a new partner. What about you? How's the leg?"  
  
"It's getting there. I'll be chasing Harrison around town again in no time."  
  
There was another subtle shift in Kiff's expression.  
  
"How's the rest of you?"  
  
"I... still get tired pretty fast," Tru admitted.  
  
"I'll bet. You, uh, want some coffee?"  
  
"Yeah, I do."  
  
Tru hobbled after Kiff to the kitchenette, where three firemen were having a laugh over a bag of Fritos. One glance at Kiff and they broke off their conversation and left the room. Tru settled onto a stool at the island counter and looked from the retreating men to Kiff, who was stiffly pouring thick black joe into two identical mugs.  
  
"What was that?" asked Tru.  
  
Kiff sighed. "You know, I like to pretend they're avoiding me because they feel guilty and don't know how to say it yet. But I know they wish it'd been me that wound up in the shit. I may've been right. That doesn't change the fact that I'm a tiny female Jew and a company full of church- going he-men."  
  
"But you're still here."  
  
Kiff shrugged. "I love my job."  
  
Tru smiled again.  
  
"Anyway, is everything kosher now? I mean, Jack hasn't..?"  
  
"No," said Tru. "No, he won't come after me. It's not his style to get his own hands dirty, and with all his puppets either in the hospital or jail, I think he'll cut his losses with this one."  
  
"Good." Kiff cleared her throat. "You know, I don't know what this... THING that you do is. I don't really want to. But a very wise person once said that the only time wasted is the time you spend thinking you're alone." She fixed Tru with a meaningful look. "Now I know in my heart that I'm not. And I hope you know it too."  
  
Tru considered that. She thought of how happy she'd been at first to learn that Jack shared her ability, and how crushing his betrayal was. But in the end, when she'd needed help, it had come from Davis and Harrison and even a couple of strangers. Kiff was right: You don't need people who are exactly like you as long as you've got the ones who catch you when you fall.  
  
"Yeah," said Tru. "I do."  
  
"Frink? Kiff, are you in h- Oh!" Mike O. stopped just inside the kitchenette and politely removed his hat when he saw Tru. "Excuse me, Miss."  
  
"What can I do for you, Mike?" Kiff asked.  
  
Mike twisted his hat in his hands.  
  
"Well, uh... It's just that some of the other Mikes and me were uh... Well, we got to talking about... you know, stuff. And we just thought maybe we could buy you a beer after shift today. I mean, if you should want."  
  
Kiff was dumbstruck, staring agape at Mike O. She probably would've been less surprised if the man had pulled a bazooka on her.  
  
"She'd love to," Tru answered for her. "Wouldn't you, Kiff?"  
  
Kiff snapped out of her stupor and answered quickly. "Um, sure!"  
  
Mike O. smiled in relief. "Good. We'll see you then. Kiff. Miss."  
  
Tru stifled a laugh at Kiff's shock as she watched Mike go. She lifted her mug.  
  
"Here's to well-earned better times."  
  
Grinning, Kiff clinked her own mug against Tru's. "I don't even like beer."  
  
"You should take Harrison. He loves it."  
  
"Oh, yeah. Speaking of your brother..." Kiff leaned forward across the counter and spoke quietly. "In case I ever meet him again, could you please ask him to quit staring at my ass?"  
  
Elsewhere...  
  
It wasn't a total loss, Jack reasoned as he stood some distance from the morgue, watching a couple of funeral home attendants load Don's remains into their vehicle. Someone had died in the end after all. True, it wasn't the right someone, but still...  
  
Still, he hated losing. Still, he was tired of being thwarted by crafty little girls.  
  
Next time. Next time, there would be no mistakes, no sloppiness. And if Tru got in the way again, which she certainly would, he'd be ready.  
  
With that resolve more firmly in his mind than ever, he donned his sunglasses and strolled away.  
  
THE END  
  
This one is for everyone who, despite every reason not to, does the right thing. Yours in peace, Turtle 


End file.
